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rpHIS  Edition,  consisting  of  Two  Hundred  and  Four 
Copies  on  Japan  Paper,  was  printed  in  the  month 
of  October,  1899.     This  copy  is  No s^.vi. 


THE    GRANDISSIMES 


THE  GRANDISSIMES 

BY    GEORGE    W.    CABLE 

WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS   BY 
ALBERT     HERTERae«se^^^^ae«se 


I 


NEW   YORK-  CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S 
SONS  •  MDCCCXCIX  j-&j*j*j*j*j*&j*&j* 


Copyright,  1SS0,  I$QQ 
5y  Charles  Scribner's  Sons 

All   rights    reserved 


Jftmncrsiti!  ^Jrrss 
John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Page 

I.     Masked   Batteries l 

II.    The   Fate   of  the   Immigrant I  i 

III.  "And  who   is   my  Neighbor?" zo 

IV.  Family  Trees 23 

V.  A   Maiden   who  will   not   Marry       ....  34 

VI.    Lost  Opportunities 41 

VII.    Was   it  Honore  Grandissime  ? 46 

VIII.    Signed  —  Honore  Grandissime 55 

IX.  Illustrating  the  Tractive  Power  of  Basil   .      .  58 

X.  "  Oo  dad  is,    'Sieur   Frowenfel' ?  "    ....  6~ 

XI.    Sudden   Flashes  of  Light 72 

XII.    The  Philosophe 76 

XIII.  A   Call  from  the   Rent-Spectre 83 

XIV.  Before  Sunset 94 

XV.    Rolled  in  the  Dust 104 

XVI.    Starlight  in  the   rue  Chartres 123 

XVII.    That  Night 128 

XVIII.    New  Light  upon   Dark   Places 143 

XIX.    Art  and  Commerce 156 

XX.    A  very   Natural  Mistake 166 

XXI.  Doctor   Keene   Recovers  his  Bullet  ....  177 

XXII.    Wars  within  the   Breast 181 

XXIII.  Frowenfeld  Keeps   his  Appointment   .      .     .     .  187 


CI!- 


vi  Contents. 

Chapter  Page 

XXIV.  Frowenfeld   Makes  an   Argument       .     .     .  192 

XXV.    Aurora  as  a  Historian 204 

XXVI.    A  Ride  and  a  Rescue 208 

XXVII.    The  Fete  de  Grandpere 221 

XXVIII.    The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe 240 

XXIX.  The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe,   Continued  .      .  262 

XXX.    Paralysis 281 

XXXI.  Another  Wound  in   a  New   Place     .      .     .  288 

XXXII.    Interrupted   Preliminaries 293 

XXXIII.  Unkindest  Cut  of  All 296 

XXXIV.  Clotilde  as  a  Surgeon 299 

XXXV.    "  Fo'   wad  you  Cryne  ? " 305 

XXXVI.    Aurora's   Last  Picayune 310 

XXXVII.  Honore   Makes  some  Confessions   .     .     .      .  316 

XXXVIII.    Tests  of  Friendship 325 

XXXIX.    Louisiana  States  her  Wants 337 

XL.    Frowenfeld  Finds  Sylvestre 343 

XLI.    To  Come  to  the  Point 352 

XLII.    An   Inheritance  of  Wrong 361 

XLIII.  The  Eagle  Visits  the  Doves  in  their  Nest    .  369 

XLIV.    Bad  for   Charlie   Keene 384 

XLV.     More   Reparation 386 

XLVI.  The  Pique-en-terre  Loses  One  of  her  Crew  390 

XLVII.    The  News 401 

XLVIII.  An    Indignant   Family  and  a   Smashed   Shop  403 

XLIX.    Over  the  New  Store 414 

L.    A   Proposal  of  Marriage 419 

LI.    Business  Changes 426 

LII.    Love  Lies-a-Bleeding 431 

LIII.  Frowenfeld  at  the  Grandissime  Mansion    .  438 


Contents  vii 

Chapter  Pagb 

LIV.    "Cauldron  Bubble" 446 

LV.    Caught 449 

LVI.    Blood  for  a  Blow 457 

LVII.    Voudou  Cured 464 

LVIII.    Dying  Words 470 

LIX.  Where  some  Creole  Money  Goes      .     .     .     .  477 

LX.    "All  Right"        481 

LXI.    "No!" 486 


PHOTOGRAVURES 


"  They  paused  a  little  within  the  obscurity  of  the 
corridor,  and  just  to  reassure  themselves  that 
everything  was  '  all  right '  "        ....      Frontispiece 


"  She  looked  upon  an  unmasked,  noble  countenance, 
lifted  her  own  mask  a  little,  and  then  a  little 
more;   and   then   shut   it  quickly"       .    Facing  page    10 

"  The  daughter  of  the  Natchez  sitting  in  majesty, 
clothed  in  many-colored  robes  of  shining  feath- 
ers crossed  and  recrossed  with  girdles  of  serpent- 
skins  and  of  wampum" 26 


"  Aurora, — alas  !  alas  !  —  went  down  upon  her  knees 

with  her  gaze  fixed  upon  the  candle's  flame"     .      102 


"  The  young  man  with  auburn  curls  rested  the  edge 
of  his  burden  upon  the  counter,  tore  away  its 
wrappings   and  disclosed   a  painting"       .      .      .      162 


x  Photogravures 

"  Silently  regarding  the  intruder  with  a  pair  of 
eyes  that  sent  an  icy  chill  through  him  and 
fastened  him  where  he  stood,  lay  Palmyre 
Philosophe" Facing  page    1 88 

"  On  their  part,  they  would  sit  in  deep  attention, 
shielding  their  faces  from  the  fire,  and  respond- 
ing to  enunciations  directly  contrary  to  their 
convictions  with  an  occasional  '  yes-seh,'  or 
'ceddenly,'  or  '  of  coze,'  or,  —  prettier  affirma- 
tion still, —  a  solemn  drooping  of  the  eyelids  "    .      198 

"  Bras-Coupe  was  practically  declaring  his  independ- 
ence on  a  slight  rise  of  ground  hardly  sixty  feet 
in  circumference  and  lifted  scarce  above  the 
water  in  the  inmost  depths  of  the  swamp "     .     260 

" '  Ma  1111  dotter,  wad  dad  meggin  you  cry  ?  Iv  you 
will  tell  me  wad  dad  mague  you  cry,  I  will  tell 
you  —  on  ma  second  word  of  honor' — she  rolled 
up  her  fist  — 'juz  wad  I  thing  about  dad  'Sieur 
Frowenfel!'" 308 

"  His  head  was  bowed,  a  heavy  grizzled  lock  fell 
down  upon  his  dark,  frowning  brow,  one  hand 
clenched  the  top  of  his  staff,  the  other  his  knee, 
and  both  trembled  violently  " 334 

"  The  tall  figure  of  Palmyre  rose  slowly  and  silently 
from  her  chair,  her  eyes  lifted  up  and  her  lips 
moving  noiselessly.  She  seemed  to  have  lost  all 
knowledge  of  place  or  of  human  presence  "  .      .      424 


Photogravures  xi 

They  turned  in  a  direction  opposite  to  the  en- 
trance and  took  chairs  in  a  cool  nook  of 
the  paved  court,  at  a  small  table  where  the 
hospitality  of  Clemence  had  placed  glasses  of 
lemonade  " Facing  page    436 


*  +  *  In  addition  to  the  foregoing,  the  stories  are  illustrated 
with  eight  smaller  photogravures  from  drawings  by  Mr. 
Herter. 


CHAPTER    I 

MASKED    BATTERIES 

T  was  in  the  Theatre  St.  Philippe  (they 
had  laid  a  temporary  floor  over  the 
parquette  seats)  in  the  city  we  now  call 
New  Orleans,  in  the  month  of  Septem- 
ber, and  in  the  year  1803.  Under  the  twinkle  of 
numberless  candles,  and  in  a  perfumed  air  thrilled 
with  the  wailing  ecstasy  of  violins,  the  little  Creole 
capital's  proudest  and  best  were  offering  up  the  first 
cool  night  of  the  languidly  departing  summer  to  the 
divine  Terpsichore.  For  summer  there,  bear  in 
mind,  is  a  loitering  gossip,  that  only  begins  to  talk 
of  leaving  when  September  rises  to  go.  It  was  like 
hustling  her  out,  it  is  true,  to  give  a  select  bal 
masque  at  such  a  very  early — such  an   amusingly 


2  The  Grandissimes 

early  date ;  but  it  was  fitting  that  something  should 
be,  done  for  the  sick  and  the  destitute ;  and  why 
not  this  ?  Everybody  knows  the  Lord  -loveth  a 
cheerful  giver. 

And  so,  to  repeat,  it  was  in  the  Theatre  St. 
Philippe  (the  oldest,  the  first  one),  and,  as  may 
have  been  noticed,  in  the  year  in  which  the  First 
Consul  of  France  gave  away  Louisiana.  Some 
might  call  it  "  sold."  Old  Agricola  Fusilier  in  the 
rumbling  pomp  of  his  natural  voice  —  for  he  had 
an  hour  ago  forgotten  that  he  was  in  mask  and 
domino  —  called  it  "  gave  away."  Not  that  he 
believed  it  had  been  done ;  for,  lbok  you,  how 
could  it  be  ?  The  pretended  treaty  contained,  for 
instance,  no  provision  relative  to  the  great  family 
of  Brahmin  Mandarin  Fusilier  de  Grandissime. 
It  was  evidently  spurious. 

Being  bumped  against,  he  moved  a  step  or  two 
aside,  and  was  going  on  to  denounce  further  the 
detestable  rumor,  when  a  masker  —  one  of  four 
who  had  just  finished  the  contra-dahce  and  were 
moving  away  in  the  column  of  promenaders  — 
brought  him  smartly  around  with  the  salutation : 

"  Comment  to  ye,  Citoyen  Agricola  !  " 

"  H-you  young  kitten  !  "  said  the  old  man  in  a 
growling  voice,  and  with  the  teased,  half  laugh  of 
aged  vanity  as  he  bent  a  baffled  scrutiny  at  the 
back-turned  face  of  an  ideal  Indian  Queen.  It  was 
not  merely  the  tutoiement  that  struck  him  as  saucy, 
but  the  further  familiarity  of  using  the  slave  dialect. 
His  French  was  unprovincial. 


Masked  Batteries 


3 


"  H-the  cool  rascal  !  "  he  added  laughingly,  and, 
only  half  to  himself;  "  get  into  the  garb  of  your 
true  sex,  sir,  h-and  I  will  guess  who  you  are  !  " 

But  the  Oueen,  in  the  same  feigned  voice  as 
before,  retorted : 

"Ah!  mo  piti  Jils,  to  pas  connais  to  zancestres? 
Don't  you  know  your  ancestors,  my  little  son  !  " 

"  H-the  g-hods  preserve  us ! "  said  Agricola, 
with  a  pompous  laugh  muffled  under  his  mask, 
"  the  queen  of  the  Tchoupitoulas  I  proudly 
acknowledge,  and  my  great-grandfather,  Epami- 
nondas  Fusilier,  lieutenant  of  dragoons  under  Bien- 
ville;  but,"  —  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  and 
bowed  to  the  other  two  figures,  whose  smaller 
stature  betrayed  the  gentler  sex  — "  pardon  me, 
ladies,  neither  Monks  nor  Filles  a  la  Cassette  grow 
on  our  family  tree." 

The  four  maskers  at  once  turned  their  glance 
upon  the  old  man  in  the  domino  ;  but  if  any  retort 
was  intended  it  gave  way  as  the  violins  burst  into 
an  agony  of  laughter.  The  floor  was  immediately 
filled  with  waltzers  and  the  four  figures  disappeared. 

"  I  wonder,"  murmured  Agricola  to  himself,  "  if 
that  Dragoon  can  possibly  be  Honore  Grandis- 
sime." 

Wherever  those  four  maskers  went  there  were 
cries  of  delight:  "Ho,  ho,  ho!  see  there!  here! 
there!  a  group  of  first  colonists!  One  of  Iber- 
ville's Dragoons  !  don't  you  remember  great-great 
grandfather  Fusilier's  portrait  —  the  gilded  casque 
and  heron  plumes  ?     And  that  one  behind  in  the 


4  The  Grandissimes 

fawn-skin  leggings  and  shirt  of  birds'  skins  is 
an  Indian  Queen.  As  sure  as  sure  can  be,  they 
are  intended  for  Epaminondas  and  his  wife,  Lufki- 
Humma  !  "     All,  of  course,  in  Louisiana  French. 

"  But  why,  then,  does  he  not  walk  with  her?  " 

"Why,  because,  Simplicity,  both  of  them  are 
men,  while  the  little  Monk  on  his  arm  is  a  lady,  as 
you  can  see,  and  so  is  the  masque  that  has  the  arm 
of  the  Indian  Queen  ;  look  at  their  little  hands." 

In  another  part  of  the  room  the  four  were  greeted 
with,  "  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  well,  that  is  magnificent !  But 
see  that  Huguenotte  Girl  on  the  Indian  Queen's 
arm  !  Is  n't  that  fine  !  Ha,  ha  !  she  carries  a  little 
trunk.     She  is  a  Fille  a  la  Cassette  !  " 

Two  partners  in  a  cotillion  were  speaking  in  an 
undertone,  behind  a  fan. 

"And  you  think  you  know  who  it  is?"  asked 
one. 

"  Know  ?  "  replied  the  other.  "  Do  I  know  I 
have  a  head  on  my  shoulders  ?  If  that  Dragoon  is 
not  our  cousin  Honore  Grandissime  —  well " 

"  Honore  in  mask  ?  he  is  too  sober-sided  to  do 
such  a  thing." 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  he !  Listen.  Yesterday  I 
heard  Doctor  Charlie  Keene  begging  him  to  go, 
and  telling  him  there  were  two  ladies,  strangers, 
newly  arrived  in  the  city,  who  would  be  there,  and 
whom  he  wished  him  to  meet.  Depend  upon  it 
the  Dragoon  is  Honore,  Lufki-Humma  is  Charlie 
Keene,  and  the  Monk  and  the  Huguenotte  are 
those  two  ladies." 


Masked  Batteries  5 

But  all  this  is  an  outside  view;  let  us  draw 
nearer  and  see  what  chance  may  discover  to  us 
behind  those  four  masks. 

An  hour  has  passed  by-  The  dance  goes  on  ; 
hearts  are  beating,  wit  is  flashing,  eyes  encounter 
eyes  with  the  leveled  lances  of  their  beams,  merri- 
ment and  joy  and  sudden  bright  surprises  thrill  the 
breast,  voices  are  throwing  off  disguise,  and  beauty's 
coy  ear  is  bending  with  a  venturesome  docility ; 
here  love  is  baffled,  there  deceived,  yonder  takes 
prisoners  and  here  surrenders.  The  very  air  seems 
to  breathe,  to  sigh,  to  laugh,  while  the  musicians, 
with  disheveled  locks,  streaming  brows  and  furious 
bows,  strike,  draw,  drive,  scatter  from  the  anguished 
violins  a  never-ending  rout  of  screaming  harmonies. 
But  the  Monk  and  the  Huguenotte  are  not  on  the 
floor.  They  are  sitting  where  they  have  been  left 
by  their  two  companions,  in  one  of  the  boxes  of  the 
theater,  looking  out  upon  the  unwearied  whirl  and 
flash  of  gauze  and  light  and  color. 

"  Oh,  cherie,  cherie  !  "  murmured  the  little  lady 
in  the  Monk's  disguise  to  her  quieter  companion, 
and  speaking  in  the  soft  dialect  of  old  Louisiana, 
"  now  you  get  a  good  idea  of  heaven  !  " 

The  Fille  a  la  Cassette  replied  with  a  sudden  turn 
of  her  masked  face  and  a  murmur  of  surprise  and 
protest  against  this  impiety.  A  low,  merry  laugh 
came  out  of  the  Monk's  cowl,  and  the  Huguenotte 
let  her  form  sink  a  little  in  her  chair  with  a  gentle 
sigh. 

"  Ah,  for  shame,  tired  !  "  softlv  laughed  the  other  ; 


6  The  Grandissimes 

then  suddenly,  with  her  eyes  fixed  across  the  room, 
she  seized  her  companion's  hand  and  pressed  it 
tightly.  "  Do  you  not  see  it  ? "  she  whispered 
eagerly,  "just  by  the  door  —  the  casque  with  the 
heron  feathers.  Ah,  Clotilde,  I  cannot  believe  he  is 
one  of  those  Grandissimes  !  " 

"  Well,"  replied  the  Huguenotte,  "  Doctor  Keene 
says  he  is  not." 

Doctor  Charlie  Keene,  speaking  from  under  the 
disguise  of  the  Indian  Queen,  had  indeed  so  said; 
but  the  Recording  Angel,  whom  we  understand  to 
be  particular  about  those  things,  had  immediately 
made  a  memorandum  of  it  to  the  debit  of  Doctor 
Keene's  account. 

"  If  I  had  believed  that  it  was  he,"  continued  the 
whisperer,  "  I  would  have  turned  about  and  left  him 
in  the  midst  of  the  contra-dance  !  " 

Behind  them  sat  unmasked  a  well-aged  pair, 
"  bredouill'e"  as  they  used  to  say  of  the  wall-flowers, 
with  that  look  of  blissful  repose  which  marks  the 
married  and  established  Creole.  The  lady  in 
monk's  attire  turned  about  in  her  chair  and  leaned 
back  to  laugh  with  these.  The  passing  maskers 
looked  that  way,  with  a  certain  instinct  that  there 
was  beauty  under  those  two  costumes.  As  they 
did  so,  they  saw  the  Ftlle  a  la  Cassette  join  in  this 
over-shoulder  conversation.  A  moment  later,  they 
saw  the  old  gentleman  protector  and  the  Fille  a  la 
Cassette  rising  to  the  dance.  And  when  presently 
the  distant  passers  took  a  final  backward  glance, 
that  same  Lieutenant  of  Dragoons  had  returned  and 


Masked  Batteries  7 

he  and  the  little  Monk,  were  once  more  upon  the 
floor,  waiting  tor  the  music. 

"  But  your  late  companion  ?  "  said  the  voice  in 
the  cowl. 

"  Mv  Indian  Oueen  ?  "  asked  the  Creole  Epami- 
nondas. 

"  Say,  rather,  your  Medicine-Man,"  archly  replied 
the  Monk. 

"  In  these  times,"  responded  the  Cavalier,  "  a 
medicine-man  cannot  dance  long  without  profes- 
sional interruption,  even  when  he  dances  for  a  char- 
itable object.  He  has  been  called  to  two  relapsed 
patients."  The  music  struck  up  ;  the  speaker  ad- 
dressed himself  to  the  dance;  but  the  lady  did  not 
respond. 

"  Do  dragoons  ever  moralize  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  They  do  more,"  replied  her  partner ;  "  some- 
times, when  beauty's  enjoyment  of  the  ball  is 
drawing  toward  its  twilight,  they  catch  its  pleasant 
melancholy,  and  confess ;  will  the  good  father  sit  in 
the  confessional  ?  " 

The  pair  turned  slowly  about  and  moved  toward 
the  box  from  which  they  had  come,  the  lady  remain- 
ing silent ;  but  just  as  they  were  entering  she  half 
withdrew  her  arm  from  his,  and,  confronting  him 
with  a  rich  sparkle  of  the  eyes  within  the  immobile 
mask  of  the  monk,  said  : 

"  Why  should  the  conscience  of  one  poor  little 
monk  carry  all  the  frivolity  of  this  ball  ?  I  have  a 
right  to  dance,  if  I  wish.  I  give  you  my  word, 
Monsieur  Dragoon,  I  dance  only  for  the  benefit  of 


8  The  Grandissimes 

the  sick  and  the  destitute.  It  is  you  men  —  you 
dragoons  and  others  —  who  will  not  help  them  with- 
out a  compensation  in  this  sort  of  nonsense.  Why 
should  we  shrive  you  when  you  ought  to  burn  ?  " 

"  Then  lead  us  to  the  altar,"  said  the  Dragoon. 

"  Pardon,  sir,"  she  retorted,  her  words  entangled 
with  a  musical,  open-hearted  laugh,  "  I  am  not  go- 
ing in  that  direction."  She  cast  her  glance  around 
the  ball-room.  "  As  you  say,  it  is  the  twilight  of 
the  ball ;  I  am  looking  for  the  evening  star,  —  that 
is,  my  little  Huguenotte." 

"  Then  you  are  well  mated." 

"How?" 

"  For  you  are  Aurora." 

The  lady  gave  a  displeased  start. 

"Sir!" 

"  Pardon,"  said  the  Cavalier,  "  if  by  accident  I 
have  hit  upon  your  real  name " 

She  laughed  again  —  a  laugh  which  was  as  exult- 
antly joyous  as  it  was  high-bred. 

"  Ah,  my  name  ?  Oh  no,  indeed  !  "  (More  work 
for  the  Recording  Angel.) 

She  turned  to  her  protectress. 

"  Madame,  I  know  you  think  we  should  be  going 
home." 

The  senior  lady  replied  in  amiable  speech,  but  with 
sleepy  eyes,  and  the  Monk  began  to  lift  and  unfold 
a  wrapping.  As  the  Cavalier  drew  it  into  his  own 
possession,  and,  agreeably  to  his  gesture,  the  Monk 
and  he  sat  down  side  by  side,  he  said,  in  a  low  tone : 

"  One  more  laugh  before  we  part." 


Masked  Batteries  9 

"  A  monk  cannot  laugh  for  nothing." 

"  I  will  pay  for  it." 

"  But  with  nothing  to  laugh  at  ?  "  The  thought 
of  laughing  at  nothing  made  her  laugh  a  little  on 
the  spot. 

"  We  will  make  something  to  laugh  at,"  said  the 
Cavalier ;  "  we  will  unmask  to  each  other,  and 
when  we  find  each  other  first  cousins,  the  laugh  will 
come  of  itself." 

"  Ah  !  we  will  unmask  ?  —  no  !  I  have  no  cous- 
ins.     I  am  certain  we  are  strangers." 

"  Then  we  will  laugh  to  think  that  I  paid  for  the 
disappointment." 

Much  more  of  this  childlike  badinage  followed, 
and  by  and  by  they  came  around  again  to  the  same 
last  statement.  Another  little  laugh  escaped  from 
the  cowl. 

"  You  will  pay  ?  Let  us  see  ;  how  much  will  you 
give  to  the  sick  and  destitute  ? " 

"  To  see  who  it  is  I  am  laughing  with,  I  will  give 
whatever  you  ask." 

"Two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  cash,  into  the 
hands  of  the  managers  !  " 

"  A  bargain  !  " 

The  Monk  laughed,  and  her  chaperon  opened 
her  eyes  and  smiled  apologetically.  The  Cavalier 
laughed,  too,  and  said  : 

"  Good  !  That  was  the  laugh  ;  now  the  unmask- 
ing." 

"  And  you  positively  will  give  the  money  to  the 
managers  not  later  than  to-morrow  evening  ? " 


io  The  Grandissimes 

"  Not  later.      It  shall  be  done  without  fail." 

"Well,  wait  till  I  put  on  my  wrappings;  I  must 
be  ready  to  run." 

This  delightful  nonsense  was  interrupted  by  the 
return  of  the  Fille  a  la  Cassette  and  her  aged,  but 
sprightly,  escort,  from  a  circuit  of  the  floor.  Ma- 
dame again  opened  her  eyes,  and  the  four  prepared 
to  depart.  The  Dragoon  helped  the  Monk  to  for- 
tify herself  against  the  outer  air.  She  was  ready 
before  the  others.  There  was  a  pause,  a  low 
laugh,  a  whispered  "  Now  !  "  She  looked  upon  an 
unmasked,  noble  countenance,  lifted  her  own  mask 
a  little,  and  then  a  little  more  ;  and  then  shut  it 
quickly  down  again  upon  a  face  whose  beauty  was 
more  than  even  those  fascinating  graces  had  prom- 
ised which  Honore  Grandissime  had  fitly  named 
the  Morning  ;  but  it  was  a  face  he  had  never  seen 
before. 

"  Hush  !  "  she  said,  "  the  enemies  of  religion  are 
watching  us  ;  the  Huguenotte  saw  me.  Adieu  "  — 
and  they  were  gone. 

M.  Honore  Grandissime  turned  on  his  heel  and 
very  soon  left  the  ball. 

"  Now,  sir,"  thought  he  to  himself,  "we  '11  return 
to  our  senses." 

"  Now  I  '11  put  my  feathers  on  again,"  says  the 
plucked  bird. 


The  Fate  of  the  Immigrant  I  i 

CHAPTER   II 

THE     FATE    OF    THE     IMMIGRANT 

It  was  just  a  fortnight  after  the  ball,  that  one 
Joseph  Frowenfeld  opened  his  eyes  upon  Louisiana. 
He  was  an  American  by  birth,  rearing  and  senti- 
ment, yet  German  enough  through  his  parents,  and 
the  only  son  in  a  family  consisting  ot  father,  mother, 
self,  and  two  sisters,  new-blown  flowers  of  woman- 
hood. It  was  an  October  dawn,  when,  long  wearied 
of  the  ocean,  and  with  bright  anticipations  of  ver- 
dure, and  fragrance,  and  tropical  gorgeousness,  this 
simple-hearted  family  awoke  to  find  the  bark  that 
had  borne  them  from  their  far  northern  home 
already  entering  upon  the  ascent  of  the  Mississippi. 

We  may  easily  imagine  the  grave  group,  as  they 
came  up  one  bv  one  from  below,  that  morning  of 
first  disappointment,  and  stood  (with  a  whirligig 
of  jubilant  mosquitoes  spinning  about  each  head) 
iooking  out  across  the  waste,  seeing  the  sky  and 
the  marsh  meet  in  the  east,  the  north,  and  the  west, 
and  receiving  with  patient  silence  the  father's  sug- 
gestion that  the  hills  would,  no  doubt,  rise  into 
view  after  a  while. 

"  My  children,  we  may  turn  this  disappointment 
into  a  lesson  ;  if  the  good  people  of  this  countrv  could 
speak  to  us  now,  they  might  well  ask  us  not  to  judge 
them  or  their  land  upon  one  or  two  hastv  glances, 
or  bv  the  experiences  of  a  few  short  days  or  weeks." 


1 2  The  Grandissimes 

But  no  hills  rose.  However,  by  and  by  they 
found  solace  in  the  appearance  of  distant  forest,  and 
in  the  afternoon  they  entered  a  land  —  but  such 
a  land  !  A  land  hung  in  mourning,  darkened  by 
gigantic  cypresses,  submerged ;  a  land  of  reptiles, 
silence,  shadow,  decay. 

"  The  captain  told  father,  when  we  went  to 
engage  passage,  that  New  Orleans  was  on  high 
land,"  said  the  younger  daughter,  with  a  tremor  in 
the  voice,  and  ignoring  the  remonstrative  touch  of 
her  sister. 

"  On  high  land  ?  "  said  the  captain,  turning  from 
the  pilot;  "well,  so  it  is  —  higher  than  the  swamp, 
but  not  higher  than  the  river,"  and  he  checked  a 
broadening  smile. 

But  the  Frowenfelds  were  not  a  family  to  com- 
plain. It  was  characteristic  of  them  to  recognize 
the  bright  as  well  as  the  solemn  virtues,  and  to 
keep  each  other  reminded  of  the  duty  of  cheerful- 
ness. A  smile,  starting  from  the  quiet  elder  sister, 
went  around  the  group,  directed  against  the  ab- 
stracted and  somewhat  rueful  countenance  of 
Joseph,  whereat  he  turned  with  a  better  face  and 
said  that  what  the  Creator  had  pronounced  very 
good  they  could  hardly  feel  free  to  condemn. 
The  old  father  was  still  more  stout  of  heart. 

"  These  mosquitoes,  children,  are  thought  by 
some  to  keep  the  air  pure,"  he  said. 

"  Better  keep  out  of  it  after  sunset,"  put  in  the 
captain. 

After  that  day  and  night,  the  prospect  grew  less 


The  Fate  of  the  Immigrant  i  3 

repellent.  A  gradually  matured  conviction  that 
New  Orleans  would  not  be  found  standing  on 
stilts  in  the  quagmire  enabled  the  eye  to  become 
educated  to  a  better  appreciation  of  the  solemn 
landscape.  Nor  was  the  landscape  always  solemn. 
There  were  long  openings,  now  and  then,  to  right 
and  left,  of  emerald-green  savannah,  with  the  daz- 
zling blue  of  the  Gulf  far  beyond,  waving  a  thousand 
white-handed  good-byes  as  the  funereal  swamps 
slowly  shut  out  again  the  horizon.  How  sweet 
the  soft  breezes  off  the  moist  prairies  !  How  weird, 
how  verv  near,  the  crimson  and  green  and  black 
and  yellow  sunsets  !  How  dream-like  the  land 
and  the  great,  whispering  river  !  The  profound 
stillness  and  breath  reminded  the  old  German,  so 
he  said,  of  that  early  time  when  the  evenings  and 
mornings  were  the  first  days  of  the  half-built  world. 
The  barking  of  a  dog  in  Fort  Plaquemines  seemed 
to  come  before  its  turn  in  the  panorama  of  crea- 
tion—  before  the  earth  was  ready  for  the  dog's 
master. 

But  he  was  assured  that  to  live  in  those  swamps 
was  not  entirely  impossible  to  man  —  "if  one  may 
call  a  negro  a  man."  Runaway  slaves  were  not  so 
rare  in  them  as  one  —  a  lost  hunter,  for  example  — 
might  wish.  His  informant  was  a  new  passenger, 
taken  aboard  at  the  fort.      He  spoke  English. 

"  Yes,  sir !  Did  n'  I  had  to  run  from  Bras- 
Coupe  in  de  haidge  of  de  swamp  be'ine  de  'abita- 
tion  of  my  cousin  Honore,  one  time?  You  can 
hask  '00  you   like ! "     (A    Creole   always  provides 


14  The  Grandissimes 

against  incredulity.)  At  this  point  he  digressed  a 
moment:  "You  know  my  cousin,  Honore  Gran- 
dissime,  w'at  give  two  hund'  fifty  dolla'  to  de  'ospill 
laz  mont'  ?  An'  juz  because  my  cousin  Honore 
give  it,  somebody  helse  give  de  semm.  Fo'  w'y 
don't  he  give  his  nemm  ?  " 

The  reason  (which  this  person  did  not  know) 
was  that  the  second  donor  was  the  first  one  over 
again,  resolved  that  the  little  unknown  Monk 
should  not  know  whom  she  had  baffied. 

"  Who  was  Bras-Coupe  ?  "  the  good  German 
asked  in  French. 

The  stranger  sat  upon  the  capstan,  and,  in  the 
shadow  of  the  cypress  forest,  where  the  vessel  lay 
moored  for  a  change  of  wind,  told  in  a.  patois  diffi- 
cult, but  not  impossible,  to  understand,  the  story 
of  a  man  who  chose  rather  to  be  hunted  like  a  wild 
beast  among  those  awful  labyrinths,  than  to  be 
yoked  and  beaten  like  a  tame  one.  Joseph,  draw- 
ing near  as  the  story  was  coming  to  a  close,  over- 
heard the  following  English  : 

"  Friend,  if  you  dislike  heated  discussion,  do  not 
tell  that  to  my  son." 

The  nights  were  strangely  beautiful.  The  immi- 
grants almost  consumed  them  on  deck,  the  mother 
and  daughters  attending  in  silent  delight  while  the 
father  and  son,  facing  south,  rejoiced  in  learned 
recognition  of  stars  and  constellations  hitherto 
known   to   them    onlv  on   globes   and   charts. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  son,"  said  the  father,  in  a  moment 
of  ecstatic    admiration,    "wherever    man    may   go, 


The  Fate  of  the  Immigrant  15 

around  this  globe  —  however  uninviting  his  lateral 
surroundings  may  be,  the  heavens  are  ever  over  his 
head,  and  I  am  glad  to  find  the  stars  your  favorite 
objects  of  study." 

So  passed  the  time  as  the  vessel,  hour  by  hour, 
now  slowly  pushed  by  the  wind  against  the  turbid 
current,  now  warping  along  the  fragrant  precincts 
of  orange  or  magnolia  groves  or  fields  of  sugar- 
cane, or  moored  by  night  in  the  deep  shade  of 
mightv  willow-jungles,  patiently  crept  toward  the 
end  of  their  pilgrimage;  and  in  the  length  of  time 
which  would  at  present  be  consumed  in  making  the 
whole  journey  from  their  Northern  home  to  their 
Southern  goal,  accomplished  the  distance  of  ninety- 
eight  miles,  and  round  themselves  before  the  little, 
hybrid  city  of  "  Nouvelle  Orleans."  There  was 
the  cathedral,  and  standing  beside  it,  like  Sancho 
beside  Don  Quixote,  the  squat  hall  of  the  Cabildo 
with  the  calabozo  in  the  rear.  There  were  the 
forts,  the  military  bakery,  the  hospitals,  the  plaza, 
the  Almonaster  stores,  and  the  busy  rue  Toulouse ; 
and,  for  the  rest  of  the  town,  a  pleasant  confusion 
of  green  tree-tops,  red  and  gray  roofs,  and  glimpses 
of  white  or  yellow  wall,  spreading  back  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  behind  the  cathedral,  and  tapering  into 
a  single  rank  of  gardened  and  belvedered  villas,  that 
studded  either  horn  of  the  river's  crescent  with  a 
style  of  home  than  which  there  is  probably  nothing 
in  the  world  more  maternally  homelike. 

"And  now,"  said  the  "captain,"  bidding  the 
immigrants    good-by,   "  keep   out   of  the   sun   and 


1 6  The  Grandissimes 

stay  in  after  dark  ;  you  're  not  '  acclimated,'  as  they 
call  it,  you  know,  and  the  city  is  full  of  the  fever." 

Such  were  the  Frowenfelds.  Out  of  such  a  mold 
and  into  such  a  place  came  the  young  Americain, 
whom  even  Agricola  Fusilier,  as  we  shall  see,  by 
and  by  thought  worthy  to  be  made  an  exception 
of,  and  honored  with  his  recognition. 

The  family  rented  a  two-story  brick  house  in 
the  rue  Bienville,  No.  17,  it  seems.  The  third 
day  after,  at  daybreak,  Joseph  called  his  father  to 
his  bedside  to  say  that  he  had  had  a  chill,  and  was 
suffering  such  pains  in  his  head  and  back  that  he 
would  like  to  lie  quiet  until  they  passed  off.  The 
gentle  father  replied  that  it  was  undoubtedly  best 
to  do  so,  and  preserved  an  outward  calm.  He 
looked  at  his  son's  eyes ;  their  pupils  were  con- 
tracted to  tiny  beads.  He  felt  his  pulse  and  his 
brow ;  there  was  no  room  for  doubt ;  it  was  the 
dreaded  scourge  —  the  fever.  We  say,  sometimes, 
of  hearts  that  they  sink  like  lead;  it  does  not 
express  the  agony. 

On  the  second  day,  while  the  unsated  fever  was 
running  through  every  vein  and  artery,  like  soldiery 
through  the  streets  of  a  burning  city,  and  far  down 
in  the  caverns  of  the  body  the  poison  was  ransack- 
ing every  palpitating  corner,  the  poor  immigrant 
fell  into  a  moment's  sleep.  But  what  of  that? 
The  enemy  that  moment  had  mounted  to  the 
brain.  And  then  there  happened  to  Joseph  an 
experience  rare  to  the  sufferer  by  this  disease,  but 
not    entirely    unknown,  —  a    delirium    of    mingled 


The  Fate  of  the  Immigrant  17 

pleasures  and  distresses.  He  seemed  to  awake 
somewhere  between  heaven  and  earth,  reclining  in 
a  gorgeous  barge,  which  was  draped  in  curtains  of 
interwoven  silver  and  silk,  cushioned  with  rich 
stuffs  of  every  beautiful  dye,  and  perfumed  ad 
nauseam  with  orange-leaf  tea.  The  crew  was  a 
single  old  negress,  whose  head  was  wound  about 
with  a  blue  Madras  handkerchief,  and  who  stood 
at  the  prow,  and  by  a  singular  rotary  motion,  rowed 
the  barge  with  a  teaspoon.  He  could  not  get  his 
head  out  of  the  hot  sun  ;  and  the  barge  went  con- 
tinually round  and  round  with  a  heavy,  throbbing 
motion,  in  the  regular  beat  of  which  certain  spirits 
of  the  air  —  one  of  whom  appeared  to  be  a  beauti- 
ful girl  and  another  a  small,  red-haired  man,  — 
confronted  each  other  with  the  continual  call  and 
response : 

"  Keep  the  bedclothes  on  him  and  the  room  shut 
tight,  keep  the  bedclothes  on  him  and  the  room 
shut  tight,"  —  "An'  don'  give  'im  some  watta,  an' 
don'  give  'im  some  watta." 

During  what  lapse  of  time  —  whether  moments 
or  days  —  this  lasted,  Joseph  could  not  then  know; 
but  at  last  these  things  faded  away,  and  there  came 
to  him  a  positive  knowledge  that  he  was  on  a  sick- 
bed, where  unless  something  could  be  done  for  him 
he  should  be  dead  in  an  hour.  Then  a  spoon 
touched  his  lips,  and  a  taste  of  brandy  and  water 
went  all  through  him  ;  and  when  he  fell  into  sweet 
slumber  and  awoke,  and  found  the  teaspoon  ready 
at  his  lips  again,  he  had  to  lift  a  little  the  two  hands 


I  8  The  Grandissimes 

lying  before  him  on  the  coverlet  to  know  that  they 
were  his  —  they  were  so  wasted  and  yellow.  He 
turned  his  eyes,  and  through  the  white  gauze  of  the 
mosquito-bar  saw,  for  an  instant,  a  strange  and  beau- 
tiful young  face ;  but  the  lids  fell  over  his  eyes,  and 
when  he  raised  them  again  the  blue-turbaned  black 
nurse  was  tucking  the  covering  about  his  feet. 

"  Sister !  " 

No  answer. 

"  Where  is  my  mother  ?  " 

The  negress  shook  her  head. 

He  was  too  weak  to  speak  again,  but  asked  with 
his  eyes  so  persistently,  and  so  pleadingly,  that  by 
and  by  she  gave  him  an  audible  answer.  He  tried 
hard  to  understand  it,  but  could  not,  it  being  in 
these  words  : 

"Li  pa   oul'e  vim  'ci — li  pas  capabe." 

Thrice  a  day,  for  three  days  more,  came  a  little 
man  with  a  large  head  surrounded  by  short,  red 
curls  and  with  small  freckles  in  a  fine  skin,  and  sat 
down  by  the  bed  with  a  word  of  good  cheer  and 
the  air  of  a  commander.  At  length  they  had  some- 
thing like  an  extended  conversation. 

"  So  you  concluded  not  to  die,  eh  ?  Yes,  I  'm 
the  doctor  —  Doctor  Keene.  A  young  lady?  What 
young  lady  ?  No,  sir,  there  has  been  no  young 
lady  here.  You  're  mistaken.  Vagary  of  your 
fever.  There  has  been  no  one  here  but  this  black 
girl  and  me.  No,  my  dear  fellow,  your  father  and 
mother  can't  see  you  yet ;  you  don't  want  them  to 
catch  the  fever,  do  you  ?      Good-bye.     Do  as  your 


The  Fate  of  the  Immigrant  19 

nurse  tells  you,  and  next  week  you  may  raise  your 
head  and  shoulders  a  little ;  but  if  you  don't  mind 
her  you  '11  have  a  backset,  and  the  devil  himself 
would  n't  engage  to  cure  you." 

The  patient  had  been  sitting  up  a  little  at  a  time 
for  several  days,  when  at  length  the  doctor  came  to 
pay  a  final  call,  "  as  a  matter  of  form  ; "  but,  after 
a    few  pleasantries,  he  drew  his  chair  up   gravely, 

and,  in  a  tender  tone need  we  say  it  ?     He  had 

come  to  tell  Joseph  that  his  father,  mother,  sisters, 
all,  were  gone  on  a  second  —  a  longer  —  voyage,  to 
shores  where  there  could  be  no  disappointments  and 
no  fevers,  forever. 

"And,  Frowenfeld,"  he  said,  at  the  end  of  their 
long  and  painful  talk,  "  if  there  is  any  blame  attached 
to  not  letting  you  go  with  them,  I  think  I  can  take 
part  of  it;  but  if  you  ever  want  a  friend,  —  one 
who  is  courteous  to  strangers  and  ill-mannered  only 
to  those  he  likes,  —  you  can  call  for  Charlie  Keene. 
I  '11  drop  in  to  see  you,  anyhow,  from  time  to  time, 
till  you  get  stronger.  I  have  taken  a  heap  of  trouble 
to  keep  you  alive,  and  if  you  should  relapse  now 
and  give  us  the  slip,  it  would  be  a  deal  of  good 
physic  wasted  ;  so  keep  in  the  house." 

The  polite  neighbors  who  lifted  their  cocked  hats 
to  Joseph,  as  he  spent  a  slow  convalescence  just 
within  his  open  door,  were  not  bound  to  know  how 
or  when  he  might  have  suffered.  There  were  no 
"  Howards  "  or  "  Y.  M.  C.  A.'s  "  in  those  days  ;  no 
"  Peabody  Reliefs."  Even  had  the  neighbors 
chosen   to  take  cognizance  of  those  bereavements, 


20  The  Grandissimes 

they  were  not  so  unusual  as  to  fix  upon  him  any- 
extraordinary  interest  as  an  object  of  sight ;  and  he 
was  beginning  most  distressfully  to  realize  that 
"great  solitude"  which  the  philosopher  attributes 
to  towns,  when  matters  took  a  decided  turn. 


CHAPTER    III 

"and  who  is  my  neighbor?" 

We  say  matters  took  a  turn;  or,  better,  that 
Frowenfeld's  interest  in  affairs  received  a  new  life. 
This  had  its  beginning  in  Doctor  Keene's  making 
himself  specially  entertaining  in  an  old-family-history 
way,  with  a  view  to  keeping  his  patient  within  doors 
for  a  safe  period.  He  had  conceived  a  great  liking 
for  Frowenfeld,  and  often,  of  an  afternoon,  would 
drift  in  to  challenge  him  to  a  game  of  chess  —  a  game, 
by  the  way,  for  which  neither  of  them  cared  a  far- 
thing. The  immigrant  had  learned  its  moves  to 
gratify  his  father,  and  the  doctor —  the  truth  is,  the 
doctor  had  never  quite  learned  them  ;  but  he  was  one 
of  those  men  who  cannot  easily  consent  to  acknowl- 
edge a  mere  affection  for  one,  least  of  all  one  of 
their  own  sex.  It  may  safely  be  supposed,  then, 
that  the  board  often  displayed  an  arrangement  of 
pieces  that  would  have  bewildered  Morphy  him- 
self. 

"  By  the  by,  Frowenfeld,"  he  said  one  evening, 
after  the  one  preliminary  move  with   which  he  in- 


"And  who  is  my  Neighbor?"  21 

variably  opened  his  game,  "  you  have  n't  made 
the  acquaintance  of  your  pretty  neighbors  next 
door." 

Frowenfeld  knew  of  no  specially  pretty  neigh- 
bors next  door  on  either  side  —  had  noticed  no 
ladies. 

"  Well,  I  will  take  you  in  to  see  them  some 
time."  The  doctor  laughed  a  little,  rubbing  his 
face  and  his  thin,  red  curls  with  one  hand,  as  he 
laughed. 

The  convalescent  wondered  what  there  could  be 
to  laugh  at. 

"  Who  are  they?  "  he  inquired. 

"Their  name  is  De  Grapion  —  oh,  De  Grapion, 
says  I  !  their  name  is  Nancanou.  They  are,  without 
exception,  the  finest  women  —  the  brightest,  the 
best,  and  the  bravest — that  I  know  in  New  Or- 
leans." The  doctor  resumed  a  cigar  which  lay 
against  the  edge  of  the  chess-board,  found  it  extin- 
guished, and  proceeded  to  relight  it.  "  Best  blood 
of  the  province  ;  good  as  the  Grandissimes.  Blood 
is  a  great  thing  here,  in  certain  odd  ways,"  he  went 
on.  "Very  curious  sometimes."  He  stooped  to 
the  floor  where  his  coat  had  fallen,  and  took  his 
handkerchief  from  a  breast-pocket.  "  At  a  grand 
mask  ball  about  two  months  ago,  where  I  had  a 
bewilderingly  fine  time  with  those  ladies,  the  proud- 
est old  turkey  in  the  theater  was  an  old  fellow  whose 
Indian  blood  shows  in  his  very  behavior,  and  yet  — 
ha,  ha  !  I  saw  that  same  old  man,  at  a  quadroon  ball 
a  few  years  ago,  walk  up  to  the  handsomest,  best 


22  The  Grandissimes 

dressed  man  in  the  house,  a  man  with  a  skin  whiter 
than  his  own,  —  a  perfect  gentleman  as  to  looks 
and  manners,  —  and  without  a  word  slap  him  in 
the  face." 

"  You  laugh  ?  "  asked  Frowenfeld. 

"  Laugh  ?  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  The  fellow  had 
no  business  there.  Those  balls  are  not  given  to 
quadroon  males,  my  friend.  He  was  lucky  to  get 
out  alive,  and  that  was  about  all  he  did. 

u  They  are  right !  "  the  doctor  persisted,  in  re- 
sponse to  Frowenfeld's  puzzled  look.  "  The  peo- 
ple here  have  got  to  be  particular.  However,  that 
is  not  what  we  were  talking  about.  Quadroon  balls 
are  not  to  be  mentioned  in  connection.  Those 
ladies "  He  addressed  himself  to  the  resusci- 
tation of  his  cigar.  "  Singular  people  in  this  coun- 
try," he  resumed ;  but  his  cigar  would  not  revive. 
He  was  a  poor  story-teller.  To  Frowenfeld  —  as 
it  would  have  been  to  any  one,  except  a  Creole  or 
the  most  thoroughly  Creoleized  Americain  —  his 
narrative,  when  it  was  done,  was  little  more  than  a 
thick  mist  of  strange  names,  places  and  events ;  yet 
there  shone  a  light  of  romance  upon  it  that  filled  it 
with  color  and  populated  it  with  phantoms.  Frowen- 
feld's interest  rose  —  was  allured  into  this  mist  — 
and  there  was  left  befogged.  Asa  physician,  Doctor 
Keene  thus  accomplished  his  end,  —  the  mental 
diversion  of  his  late  patient,  —  for  in  the  midst  of 
the  mist  Frowenfeld  encountered  and  grappled  a 
problem  of  human  life  in  Creole  type,  the  possible 
correlations  of  whose  quantities  we  shall  presently 


Family  Trees  23 

find  him  revolving  in  a  studious  and  sympathetic 
mind,  as  the  poet  of  to-day  ponders  the 

"  Flower  in  the  crannied  wall." 

The  quantities  in  that  problem  were  the  ancestral  — ■ 
the  maternal  —  roots  of  those  two  rival  and  hostile 
families  whose  descendants — some  brave,  others 
fair  —  we  find  unwittingly  thrown  together  at  the 
ball,  and  with  whom  we  are  shortly  to  have  the 
honor  of  an  unmasked  acquaintance. 


CHAPTER    IV 

FAMILY    TREES 

In  the  year  1673,  and  in  the  royal  hovel  of  a 
Tchoupitoulas  village  not  far  removed  from  that 
"  Buffalo's  Grazing-ground,"  now  better  known  as 
New  Orleans,  was  born  Lufki-Humma,  otherwise 
Red  Clay.  The  mother  of  Red  Clay  was  a  princess 
bv  birth  as  well  as  by  marriage.  For  the  father, 
with  that  devotion  to  his  people's  interests  presum- 
ably common  to  rulers,  had  ten  moons  before  ven- 
tured northward  into  the  territory  of  the  proud  and 
exclusive  Natchez  nation,  and  had  so  prevailed  with 
—  so  outsmoked  —  their  "Great  Sun,"  as  to  find 
himself,  as  he  finally  knocked  the  ashes  from  his 
successful  calumet,  possessor  of  a  wife  whose  pedi- 
gree included  a  long  line  of  royal  mothers  —  fathers 
being  of  little   account  in   Natchez  heraldry  —  ex- 


24  The  Grandissimes 

tending  back  beyond  the  Mexican  origin  of  her 
nation,  and  disappearing  only  in  the  effulgence  of 
her  great  original,  the  orb  of  day  himself.  As  to 
Red  Clay's  paternal  ancestry,  we  must  content  our- 
selves with  the  fact  that  the  father  was  not  only  the 
diplomate  we  have  already  found  him,  but  a  chief 
of  considerable  eminence ;  that  is  to  say,  of  seven 
feet  stature. 

It  scarce  need  be  said  that  when  Lufki-Humma 
was  born,  the  mother  arose  at  once  from  her  couch 
of  skins,  herself  bore  the  infant  to  the  neighboring 
bayou  and  bathed  it  —  not  for  singularity,  nor  for 
independence,  nor  for  vainglory,  but  only  as  one  of 
the  heart-curdling  conventionalities  which  made  up 
the  experience  of  that  most  pitiful  of  holy  things,  an 
Indian  mother. 

Outside  the  lodge  door  sat  and  continued  to  sit, 
as  she  passed  out,  her  master  or  husband.  His 
interest  in  the  trivialities  of  the  moment  may  be 
summed  up  in  this,  that  he  was  as  fully  prepared  as 
some  men  are  in  more  civilized  times  and  places  to 
hold  his  queen  to  strict  account  for  the  sex  of  her 
offspring.  Girls  for  the  Natchez,  if  they  preferred 
them,  but  the  chief  of  the  Tchoupitoulas  wanted  a 
son.  She  returned  from  the  water,  came  near,  sank 
upon  her  knees,  laid  the  infant  at  his  feet,  and  lo!  a 
daughter. 

Then  she  fell  forward  heavily  upon  her  face.  It 
may  have  been  muscular  exhaustion,  it  may  have 
been  the  mere  wind  of  her  hasty-tempered  matri- 
monial  master's  stone  hatchet  as  it  whiffed  by  her 


Family  Trees  25 

skull ;  an  inquest  now  would  be  too  great  an  irony  ; 
but  something  blew  out  her  "  vile  candle." 

Among  the  squaws  who  came  to  offer  the  accus- 
tomed funeral  howlings,  and  seize  mementoes  from 
the  deceased  lady's  scant  leavings,  was  one  who  had 
in  her  own  palmetto  hut  an  empty  cradle  scarcely 
cold,  and  therefore  a  necessity  at  her  breast,  if  not 
a  place  in  her  heart,  for  the  unfortunate  Lufki- 
Humma;  and  thus  it  was  that  this  little  waif  came 
to  be  tossed,  a  droll  hypothesis  of  flesh,  blood, 
nerve  and  brain,  into  the  hands  of  wild  nature  with 
carte  blanche  as  to  the  disposal  of  it.  And  now, 
since  this  was  Agricola's  most  boasted  ancestor  — 
since  it  appears  the  darkness  of  her  cheek  had  no 
effect  to  make  him  less  white,  or  qualify  his  right  to 
smite  the  fairest  and  most  distant  descendant  of  an 
African  on  the  face,  and  since  this  proud  station  and 
right  could  not  have  sprung  from  the  squalid  sur- 
roundings of  her  birth,  let  us  for  a  moment  contem- 
plate these  crude  materials. 

As  for  the  flesh,  it  was  indeed  only  some  of  that 
"one  flesh"  of  which  we  all  are  made;  but  the 
blood  —  to  go  into  finer  distinctions  —  the  blood, 
as  distinguished  from  the  milk  of  her  Alibamon 
foster-mother,  was  the  blood  of  the  royal  caste  of 
the  great  Toltec  mother-race,  which,  before  it  yielded 
its  Mexican  splendors  to  the  conquering  Aztec, 
throned  the  jeweled  and  gold-laden  Inca  in  the 
South,  and  sent  the  sacred  fire  of  its  temples  into  the 
North  by  the  hand  of  the  Natchez.  For  it  is  a 
short  way  of  expressing  the  truth  concerning  Red 


26  The  Grandissimes 

Clay's  tissues  to  say  she  had  the  blood  of  her  mother 
and  the  nerve  of  her  father,  the  nerve  of  the  true 
North  American  Indian,  and  had  it  in  its  finest 
strength. 

As  to  her  infantine  bones,  they  were  such  as 
needed  not  to  fail  of  straightness  in  the  limbs,  com- 
pactness in  the  body,  smallness  in  hands  and  feet, 
and  exceeding  symmetry  and  comeliness  through- 
out. Possibly  between  the  two  sides  of  the  occipital 
profile  there  may  have  been  an  Incasan  tendency  to 
inequality ;  but  if  by  any  good  fortune  her  impres- 
sible little  cranium  should  escape  the  cradle-straps, 
the  shapeliness  that  nature  loves  would  soon  appear. 
And  this  very  fortune  befell  her.  Her  father's  de- 
testation of  an  infant  that  had  not  consulted  his 
wishes  as  to  sex  prompted  a  verbal  decree  which, 
among  other  prohibitions,  forbade  her  skull  the 
distortions  that  ambitious  and  fashionable  Indian 
mothers  delighted  to  produce  upon  their  offspring. 

And  as  to  her  brain  :  what  can  we  say  ?  The 
casket  in  which  Nature  sealed  that  brain,  and  in 
which  Nature's  great  step-sister,  Death,  finally  laid 
it  away,  has  never  fallen  into  the  delighted  fingers  — 
and  the  remarkable  fineness  of  its  texture  will  never 
kindle  admiration  in  the  triumphant  eyes  —  of  those 
whose  scientific  hunger  drives  them  to  dig  for  crania 
Americana;  nor  yet  will  all  their  learned  excavatings 
ever  draw  forth  one  of  those  pale  souvenirs  of  mor- 
tality with  walls  of  shapelier  contour  or  more  delicate 
fineness,  or  an  interior  of  more  admirable  spacious- 
ness, than    the    fair    council-chamber  under   whose 


Family  Trees  27 

dome  the  mind  of  Lutki-Humma  used,  about  two 
centuries  ago,  to  sit  in  frequent  conclave  with  high 
thoughts. 

"  I  have  these  facts,"  it  was  Agricola  Fusilier's 
habit  to  say,  "  by  family  tradition  ;  but  you  know, 
sir,  h-tradition  is  much  more  authentic  than 
history  !  " 

Listening  Crane,  the  tribal  medicine-man,  one  day 
stepped  softly  into  the  lodge  of  the  giant  chief,  sat 
down  opposite  him  on  a  mat  of  plaited  rushes, 
accepted  a  lighted  calumet,  and,  after  the  silence  of 
a  decent  hour,  broken  at  length  by  the  warrior's 
intimation  that  "  the  ear  of  Raging  Buffalo  listened 
for  the  voice  of  his  brother,"  said,  in  effect,  that  if 
that  ear  would  turn  toward  the  village  play-ground, 
it  would  catch  a  murmur  like  the  pleasing  sound  of 
bees  among  the  blossoms  of  the  catalpa,  albeit  the 
catalpa  was  now  dropping  her  leaves,  for  it  was  the 
moon  of  turkeys.  No,  it  was  the  repressed  laughter 
of  squaws,  wallowing  with  their  young  ones  about 
the  village  pole,  wondering  at  the  Natchez-Tchoupi- 
toulas  child,  whose  eye  was  the  eye  of  the  panther, 
and  whose  words  were  the  words  of  an  aged  chief  in 
council. 

There  was  more  added ;  we  record  only  enough 
to  indicate  the  direction  of  Listening  Crane's  aim. 
The  eye  of  Raging  Buffalo  was  opened  to  see  a 
vision :  the  daughter  ot  the  Natchez  sitting  in 
majestv,  clothed  in  many-colored  robes  of  shining 
feathers  crossed  and  recrossed  with  girdles  of  serpent- 
skins  and  of  wampum,  her  feet  in  quilled  and  painted 


28  The  Grandissimes 

moccasins,  her  head  under  a  glory  of  plumes,  the 
carpet  of  buffalo-robes  about  her  throne  covered 
with  the  trophies  of  conquest,  and  the  atmosphere 
of  her  lodge  blue  with  the  smoke  of  embassadors' 
calumets  ;  and  this  extravagant  dream  the  capricious 
chief  at  once  resolved  should  eventually  become 
reality.  "  Let  her  be  taken  to  the  village  temple," 
he  said  to  his  prime-minister,  "and  be  fed  by  warriors 
on  the  flesh  of  wolves." 

The  Listening  Crane  was  a  patient  man  ;  he  was 
the  "man  that  waits"  of  the  old  French  proverb; 
all  things  came  to  him.  He  had  waited  for  an 
opportunity  to  change  his  brother's  mind,  and  it 
had  come.  Again,  he  waited  for  him  to  die ;  and, 
like  Methuselah  and  others,  he  died.  He  had 
heard  of  a  race  more  powerful  than  the  Natchez  — 
a  white  race ;  he  waited  for  them  ;  and  when  the 
year  1682  saw  a  humble  "black  gown"  dragging 
and  splashing  his  way,  with  La  Salle  and  Tonti, 
through  the  swamps  of  Louisiana,  holding  forth 
the  crucifix  and  backed  by  French  carbines  and 
Mohican  tomahawks,  among  the  marvels  of  that 
wilderness  was  found  this  :  a  child  of  nine  sitting, 
and  —  with  some  unostentatious  aid  from  her  med- 
icine-man —  ruling  ;  queen  of  her  tribe  and  high- 
priestess  of  their  temple.  Fortified  by  the  acumen 
and  self-collected  ambition  of  Listening  Crane,  con- 
firmed in  her  regal  title  by  the  white  man's  Manitou 
through  the  medium  of  the  "  black  gown,"  and  in- 
heriting her  father's  fear-compelling  frown,  she  ruled 
with  majesty  and  wisdom,  sometimes  a  decreer  of 


Family  Trees  29 

bloody  justice,  sometimes  an  Amazonian  counselor 
of  warriors,  and  at  all  times  —  year  after  year,  until 
she  had  reached  the  perfect  womanhood  of  twenty- 
six —  a  virgin  queen. 

On  the  nth  of  March,  1699,  two  overbold 
young  Frenchmen  of  M.  D'Iberville's  little  explor- 
ing party  tossed  guns  on  shoulder,  and  ventured 
away  from  their  canoes  on  the  bank  of  the  Missis- 
sippi into  the  wilderness.  Two  men  they  were  whom 
an  explorer  would  have  been  justified  in  hoarding 
up,  rather  than  in  letting  out  at  such  risks ;  a  pair 
to  lean  on,  noble  and  strong.  They  hunted,  killed 
nothing,  were  overtaken  by  rain,  then  by  night, 
hunger,  alarm,  despair. 

And  when  they  had  lain  down  to  die,  and  had 
only  succeeded  in  falling  asleep,  the'  Diana  of  the 
Tchoupitoulas,  ranging  the  magnolia  groves  with 
bow  and  quiver,  came  upon  them  in  all  the  poetry 
of  their  hope-forsaken  strength  and  beauty,  and  fell 
sick  of  love.  We  say  not  whether  with  Zephyr 
Grandissime  or  Epaminondas  Fusilier;  that,  for  the 
time  being,  was  her  secret. 

The  two  captives  were  made  guests.  Listening 
Crane  rejoiced  in  them  as  representatives  of  the 
great  gift-making  race,  and  indulged  himself  in  a 
dream  of  pipe-smoking,  orations,  treaties,  presents 
and  alliances,  finding  its  climax  in  the  marriage  of 
his  virgin  queen  to  the  king  of  France,  and  unvary- 
ingly tending  to  the  swiftly  increasing  aggrandize- 
ment of  Listening  Crane.  They  sat  down  to  bear's 
meat,   sagamite  and   beans.     The  queen   sat   down 


3° 


The  Grandissimes 


with  them,  clothed  in  her  entire  wardrobe :  vest  of 
swan's  skin,  with  facings  of  purple  and  green  from 
the  neck  of  the  mallard  ;  petticoat  of  plaited  hair, 
with  embroideries  of  quills  ;  leggings  of  fawn-skin  ; 
garters  of  wampum  ;  black  and  green  serpent-skin 
moccasins,  that  rested  on  pelts  of  tiger-cat  and  buf- 
falo ;  armlets  of  gars'  scales,  necklaces  of  bears' 
claws  and  alligators'  teeth,  plaited  tresses,  plumes  of 
raven  and  flamingo,  wing  of  the  pink  curlew,  and 
odors  of  bay  and  sassafras.  Young  men  danced  be- 
fore them,  blowing  upon  reeds,  hooting,  yelling, 
rattling  beans  in  gourds  and  touching  hands  and 
feet.  One  day  was  like  another,  and  the  nights 
were  made  brilliant  with  flambeau  dances  and 
processions. 

Some  days  later  M.  D'Iberville's  canoe  fleet,  re- 
turning down  the  river,  found  and  took  from  the 
shore  the  two  men,  whom  they  had  given  up  for 
dead,  and  with  them,  by  her  own  request,  the  abdi- 
cating queen,  who  left  behind  her  a  crowd  of  weep- 
ing and  howling  squaws  and  warriors.  Three 
canoes  that  put  off  in  their  wake,  at  a  word  from 
her,  turned  back  ;  but  one  old  man  leaped  into  the 
water,  swam  after  them  a  little  way,  and  then  unex- 
pectedly sank.  It  was  that  cautious  wader  but  in- 
experienced swimmer,  the  Listening  Crane. 

When  the  expedition  reached  Biloxi,  there  were 
two  suitors  for  the  hand  of  Agricola's  great  ances- 
tress. Neither  of  them  was  Zephyr  Grandissime. 
(Ah  !  the  strong  heads  of  those  Grandissimes.) 

They    threw    dice    for    her.       Demosthenes    De 


Family  Trees  3 1 

Grapion  —  he  who,  tradition  says,  first  hoisted  the 
flag  of  France  over  the  little  fort  —  seemed  to  think 
he  ought  to  have  a  chance,  and  being  accorded  it, 
cast  an  astonishingly  high  number ;  but  Epaminon- 
das  cast  a  number  higher  by  one  (which  Demos- 
thenes never  could  quite  understand),  and  got  a  wife 
who  had  loved  him  from  first  sight. 

Thus,  while  the  pilgrim  fathers  of  the  Mississippi 
Delta  with  Gallic  recklessness  were  taking  wives  and 
moot-wives  from  the  ill  specimens  of  three  races, 
arose,  with  the  church's  benediction,  the  royal  house 
of  the  Fusiliers  in  Louisiana.  But  the  true,  main 
Grandissime  stock,  on  which  the  Fusiliers  did  early, 
ever,  and  yet  do,  love  to  marry,  has  kept  itself  lily- 
white  ever  since  France  has  loved  lilies  —  as  to 
marriage,  that  is ;  as  to  less  responsible  entangle- 
ments, why,  of  course 

After  a  little,  the  disappointed  Demosthenes,  with 
due  ecclesiastical  sanction,  also  took  a  most  excellent 
wife,  from  the  first  cargo  of  House  of  Correction 
girls.  Her  biography,  too,  is  as  short  as  Methuse- 
lah's, or  shorter ;  she  died.  Zephyr  Grandissime 
married,  still  later,  a  lady  of  rank,  a  widow  without 
children,  sent  from  France  to  Biloxi  under  a  lettre 
de  cachet.  Demosthenes  De  Grapion,  himself  an 
only  son,  left  but  one  son,  who  also  left  but  one. 
Yet  they  were  prone  to  early  marriages. 

So  also  were  the  Grandissimes,  or,  as  the  name  is 
signed  in  all  the  old  notarial  papers,  the  Brahmin 
Mandarin  de  Grandissimes.  That  was  one  thing 
that  kept  their  many-stranded   family  line  so  free 


32 


The  Grandissimes 


from  knots  and  kinks.  Once  the  leisurely  Zephyr 
gave  them  a  start,  generation  followed  generation 
with  a  rapidity  that  kept  the  competing  De  Grapions 
incessantly  exasperated,  and  new-made  Grandissime 
fathers  continually  throwing  themselves  into  the 
fond  arms  and  upon  the  proud  necks  of  congratula- 
tory grandsires.  Verily  it  seemed  as  though  their 
family  tree  was  a  fig-tree ;  you  could  not  look  for 
blossoms  on  it,  but  there,  instead,  was  the  fruit  full 
of  seed.  And  with  all  their  speed  they  were  for  the 
most  part  fine  of  stature,  strong  of  limb  and  fair  of 
face.  The  old  nobility  of  their  stock,  including 
particularly  the  unnamed  blood  of  her  of  the  lettre 
de  cachet,  showed  forth  in  a  gracefulness  of  carriage, 
that  almost  identified  a  De  Grandissime  wherever 
you  saw  him,  and  in  a  transparency  of  flesh  and 
classic  beauty  of  feature,  that  made  their  daughters 
extra-marriageable  in  a  land  and  day  which  was 
bearing  a  wide  reproach  for  a  male  celibacy  not  of 
the  pious  sort. 

In  a  flock  of  Grandissimes  might  always  be  seen 
a  Fusilier  or  two  ;  fierce-eyed,  strong-beaked,  dark, 
heavy-taloned  birds,  who,  if  they  could  not  sing, 
were  of  rich  plumage,  and  could  talk,  and  bite,  and 
strike,  and  keep  up  a  ruffled  crest  and  a  self-exalt- 
ing bad  humor.  They  early  learned  one  favorite 
cry,  with  which  they  greeted  all  strangers,  crying 
the  louder  the  more  the  endeavor  was  made  to 
appease  them  :  "  Invaders  !     Invaders  !  " 

There  was  a  real  pathos  in  the  contrast  offered  to 
this  family  line  by  that  other  which   sprang  up,  as 


Family  Trees  33 

slenderly  as  a  stalk  of  wild  oats,  from  the  loins  of 
Demosthenes  De  Grapion.  A  lone  son  following 
a  lone  son,  and  he  another — it  was  sad  to  contem- 
plate, in  that  colonial  beginning  of  days,  three  gen- 
erations of  good,  Gallic  blood  tripping  jocundly 
along  in  attenuated  Indian  file.  It  made  it  no  less 
pathetic  to  see  that  they  were  brilliant,  gallant, 
much-loved,  early  epauletted  fellows,  who  did  not 
let  twenty-one  catch  them  without  wives  sealed  with 
the  authentic  wedding  kiss,  nor  allow  twenty-two  to 
find  them  without  an  heir.  But  they  had  a  sad  apt- 
ness for  dying  young.  It  was  altogether  supposable 
that  they  would  have  spread  out  broadly  in  the  land; 
but  they  were  such  inveterate  duelists,  such  brave 
Indian-fighters,  such  adventurous  swamp-rangers, 
and  such  lively  free-livers,  that,  however  numer- 
ously their  half-kin  may  have  been  scattered  about 
in  an  unacknowledged  way,  the  avowed  name  of 
De  Grapion  had  become  less  and  less  frequent  in 
lists  where  leading  citizens  subscribed  their  signa- 
tures, and  was  not  to  be  seen  in  the  list  of  managers 
of  the  late  ball. 

It  is  not  at  all  certain  that  so  hot  a  blood  would 
not  have  boiled  away  entirely  before  the  night  of 
the  bal  masque,  but  for  an  event  which  led  to  the 
union  of  that  blood  with  a  stream  equally  clear  and 
ruddy,  but  of  a  milder  vintage.  This  event  fell  out 
some  fifty-two  years  after  that  cast  of  the  dice  which 
made  the  princess  Lufki-Humma  the  mother  of  all 
the  Fusiliers  and  of  none  of  the  De  Grapions. 
Clotilde,  the  Casket-Girl,  the  little  maid  who  would 
3 


34 


The  Grandissimes 


not  marry,  was  one  of  an  heroic  sort,  worth  —  the 
De  Grapions  maintained  —  whole  swampfuls  of 
Indian  queens.  And  yet  the  portrait  of  this  great 
ancestress,  which  served  as  a  pattern  to  one  who,  at 
the  ball,  personated  the  long-deceased  heroine  en 
masque,  is  hopelessly  lost  in  some  garret.  Those 
Creoles  have  such  a  shocking  way  of  filing  their 
family  relics  and  records  in  rat-holes. 

One  fact  alone  remains  to  be  stated  :  that  the 
De  Grapions,  try  to  spurn  it  as  they  would,  never 
could  quite  suppress  a  hard  feeling  in  the  face  of 
the  record,  that  from  the  two  young  men,  who, 
when  lost  in  the  horrors  of  Louisiana's  swamps,  had 
been  esteemed  as  good  as  dead,  and  particularly 
from  him  who  married  at  his  leisure,  —  from  Zephyr 
de  Grandissime,  —  sprang  there  so  many  as  the 
sands  of  the   Mississippi  innumerable. 


CHAPTER   V 

A    MAIDEN    WHO    WILL    NOT    MARRY 

Midway  between  the  times  of  Lufki-Humma 
and  those  of  her  proud  descendant,  Agricola  Fusilier, 
fifty-two  years  lying  on  either  side,  were  the  days  of 
Pierre  Rigaut,  the  magnificent,  the  "  Grand  Mar- 
quis," the  Governor,  De  Vaudreuil.  He  was  the 
Solomon  of  Louisiana.  For  splendor,  however, 
not  for  wisdom.  Those  were  the  gala  days  of 
license,  extravagance  and  pomp.      He  made  paper 


A  Maiden  who  will  not  Marry  35 

monev  to  be  as  the  leaves  of  the  forest  for  multi- 
tude ;  it  was  nothing  accounted  of  in  the  days  of 
the  Grand   Marquis.     For  Louis  Quinze  was  king. 

Clotilde,  orphan  of  a  murdered  Huguenot,  was 
one  of  sixty,  the  last  royal  allotment  to  Louisiana, 
of  imported  wives.  The  king's  agents  had  inveigled 
her  away  from  France  with  fair  stories  :  "  They  will 
give  you  a  quiet  home  with  some  lady  of  the  colony. 
Have  to  marry?  —  not  unless  it  pleases  you.  The 
king  himself  pays  your  passage  and  gives  you  a 
casket  of  clothes.  Think  of  that  these  times, 
fillette ;  and  passage  free,  withal,  to  —  the  garden 
of  Eden,  as  you  may  call  it  —  what  more,  say  you, 
can  a  poor  girl  want  ?  Without  doubt,  too,  like  a 
model  colonist,  you  will  accept  a  good  husband  and 
have  a  great  many  beautiful  children,  who  will  say 
with  pride,  'Me,  I  am  no  House-of-Correction-girl 
stock;  my  mother'  —  or 'grandmother,'  as  the  case 
may  be  —  '  was  2.fille  a  la  cassette  !  '  " 

The  sixty  were  landed  in  New  Orleans  and  given 
into  the  care  of  the  Ursuline  nuns ;  and,  before 
many  days  had  elapsed,  fifty-nine  soldiers  of  the 
king  were  well  wived  and  ready  to  settle  upon  their 
riparian  land-grants.  The  residuum  in  the  nuns' 
hands  was  one  stiff-necked  little  heretic,  named,  in 
part,  Clotilde.  Thev  bore  with  her  for  sixty  days, 
and  then  complained  to  the  Grand  Marquis.  But 
the  Grand  Marquis,  with  all  his  pomp,  was  gracious 
and  kind-hearted,  and  loved  his  ease  almost  as 
much  as  his  marchioness  loved  money.  He  bade 
them  try   her  another  month.     Thev  did  so,   and 


36  The  Grandissimes 

then  returned  with  her  ;  she  would  neither  marry 
nor  pray  to  Mary. 

Here  is  the  way  they  talked  in  New  Orleans  in 
those  days.  If  you  care  to  understand  why  Louis- 
iana has  grown  up  so  out  of  joint,  note  the  tone  of 
those  who  governed  her  in  the  middle  of  the  last 
century : 

"  What,  my  child,"  the  Grand  Marquis  said, 
"  you  a  fille  a  la  cassette  ?  France,  for  shame ! 
Come  here  by  my  side.  Will  you  take  a  little 
advice  from  an  old  soldier?  It  is  in  one  word  — 
submit.  Whatever  is  inevitable,  submit  to  it.  If 
you  want  to  live  easy  and  sleep  easy,  do  as  other 
people  do  —  submit.  Consider  submission  in  the 
present  case ;  how  easy,  how  comfortable,  and  how 
little  it  amounts  to  !  A  little  hearing  of  mass,  a 
little  telling  of  beads,  a  little  crossing  of  one's  self — 
what  is  that?  One  need  not  believe  in  them. 
Don't  shake  your  head.  Take  my  example ;  look 
at  me ;  all  these  things  go  in  at  this  ear  and  out  at 
this.  Do  king  or  clergy  trouble  me  ?  Not  at  all. 
For  how  does  the  king  in  these  matters  of  religion  ? 
I  shall  not  even  tell  you,  he  is  such  a  bad  boy.  Do 
you  not  know  that  all  the  noblesse,  and  all  the  savants, 
and  especially  all  the  archbishops  and  cardinals, — 
all,  in  a  word,  but  such  silly  little  chicks  as  yourself, 
—  have  found  out  that  this  religious  business  is  a 
joke  ?  Actually  a  joke,  every  whit ;  except,  to  be 
sure,  this  heresy  phase ;  that  is  a  joke  they  cannot 
take.  Now,  I  wish  you  well,  pretty  child ;  so  if 
you  —  eh  ?  —  truly,  my  pet,  I   fear  we  shall  have  to 


A  Maiden  who  will  not  Marry  37 

call  you  unreasonable.  Stop  ;  they  can  spare  me 
here  a  moment;  I  will  take  you  to  the  Marquise: 
she  is  in  the  next  room.  *  *  *  Behold,"  said  he,  as 
he  entered  the  presence  of  his  marchioness,  "  the 
little  maid  who  will  not  marry  !  " 

The  Marquise  was  as  cold  and  hard-hearted  as 
the  Marquis  was  loose  and  kind ;  but  we  need  not 
recount  the  slow  tortures  of  the  fille  a  la  cassette  s 
second  verbal  temptation.  The  colony  had  to  have 
soldiers,  she  was  given  to  understand,  and  the 
soldiers  must  have  wives.  "  Why,  I  am  a  soldier's 
wife,  myself!"  said  the  gorgeously  attired  lady, 
laying  her  hand  upon  the  governor-general's  epau- 
let. She  explained,  further,  that  he  was  rather  soft- 
hearted, while  she  was  a  business  woman  ;  also  that 
the  royal  commissary's  rolls  did  not  comprehend 
such  a  thing  as  a  spinster,  and  —  incidentally  —  that 
living  by  principle  was  rather  out  of  fashion  in  the 
province  just  then. 

After  she  had  offered  much  torment  of  this  sort, 
a  definite  notion  seemed  to  take  her  ;  she  turned 
her  lord  by  a  touch  of  the  elbow,  and  exchanged 
two  or  three  business-like  whispers  with  him  at  a 
window  overlooking  the  Levee. 

"  Fillette,"  she  said,  returning,  "you  are  going 
to  live  on  the  sea-coast.  I  am  sending  an  aged 
lady  there  to  gather  the  wax  of  the  wild  myrtle. 
This  good  soldier  of  mine  buys  it  for  our  king  at 
twelve  livres  the  pound.  Do  you  not  know  that 
women  can  make  money  ?  The  place  is  not  safe ; 
but  there  are  no  safe  places  in  Louisiana.      There  are 


2  8  The  Grandissimes 

no  nuns  to  trouble  you  there;  only  a  few  Indians 
and  soldiers.  You  and  Madame  will  live  together, 
quite  to  yourselves,  and  can  pray  as  you  like." 

"And  not  marry  a  soldier,"  said  the  Grand 
Marquis. 

"  No,"  said  the  lady,  "  not  if  you  can  gather 
enough  myrtle-berries  to  afford  me  a  profit  and 
you  a  living." 

It  was  some  thirty  leagues  or  more  eastward  to 
the  country  of  the  Biloxis,  a  beautiful  land  of  low, 
evergreen  hills  looking  out  across  the  pine-covered 
sand-keys  of  Mississippi  Sound  to  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico.  The  northern  shore  of  Biloxi  Bay  was 
rich  in  candleberry-myrtle.  In  Clotilde's  day, 
though  Biloxi  was  no  longer  the  capital  of  the 
Mississippi  Valley,  the  fort  which  D'Iberville  had 
built  in  1699,  and  the  first  timber  of  which  is  said 
to  have  been  lifted  by  Zephyr  Grandissime  at  one 
end  and  Epaminondas  Fusilier  at  the  other,  was 
still  there,  making  brave  against  the  possible  advent 
of  corsairs,  with  a  few  old  culverines  and  one 
wooden  mortar. 

And  did  the  orphan,  in  despite  of  Indians  and 
soldiers  and  wilderness,  settle  down  here  and  make 
a  moderate  fortune  ?  Alas,  she  never  gathered  a 
berry!  When  she — with  the  aged  lady,  her  ap- 
pointed companion  in  exile,  the  young  commandant 
of  the  fort,  in  whose  pinnace  they  had  come,  and 
two  or  three  French  sailors  and  Canadians  — 
stepped  out  upon  the  white  sand  of  Biloxi  beach, 
she  was  bound  with  invisible  fetters  hand  and  foot, 


A  Maiden  who  will  not  Marry  39 

by  that  Olympian  rogue  of  a  boy,  who  likes  no 
better  prey  than  a  little  maiden  who  thinks  she  will 
never  marry. 

The  officer's  name  was  De  Grapion  —  Georges 
De  Grapion.  The  Marquis  gave  him  a  choice 
grant  of  land  on  that  part  of  the  Mississippi  river 
"  coast "  known  as  the  Cannes  Brulees. 

"  Of  course  you  know  where  Cannes  Brulees 
is,  don't  you  ? "  asked  Doctor  Keene  of  Joseph 
Frowenfeld. 

"  Yes,"  said  Joseph,  with  a  twinge  of  reminis- 
cence that  recalled  the  study  of  Louisiana  on  paper 
with  his  father  and  sisters. 

There  Georges  De  Grapion  settled,  with  the 
laudable  determination  to  make  a  fresh  start  against 
the  mortifyingly  numerous  Grandissimes. 

"My  father's  policy  was  every  way  bad,"  he 
said  to  his  spouse ;  "  it  is  useless,  and  probably 
wrong,  this  trying  to  thin  them  out  by  duels ;  we 
will  try  another  plan.  Thank  you,"  he  added,  as 
she  handed  his  coat  back  to  him,  with  the  shoulder- 
straps  cut  off.  In  pursuance  of  the  new  plan, 
Madame  De  Grapion,  —  the  precious  little  heroine! 
—  before  the  myrtles  offered  another  crop  of  ber- 
ries, bore  him  a  boy  not  much  smaller  (saith  tradi- 
tion) than  herself. 

Only  one  thing  qualified  the  father's  elation. 
On  that  very  day  Numa  Grandissime  (Brahmin- 
Mandarin  de  Grandissime),  a  mere  child,  received 
from  Governor  de  Vaudreuil  a  cadetship. 


4o 


The  Grandissimes 


"  Never  mind,  Messieurs  Grandissime,  go  on  with 
your  tricks  ;  we  shall  see  !     Ha  !  we  shall  see  !  " 

"  We  shall  see  what  ?  "  asked  a  remote  relative 
of  that  family.  "  Will  Monsieur  be  so  good  as  to 
explain  himself?  " 

Bang !  bang ! 

Alas,  Madame  De  Grapion  ! 

It  may  be  recorded  that  no  affair  of  honor  in 
Louisiana  ever  left  a  braver  little  widow.  When 
Joseph  and  his  doctor  pretended  to  play  chess 
together,  but  little  more  than  a  half-century  had 
elapsed  since  the  fille  a  la  cassette  stood  before  the 
Grand  Marquis  and  refused  to  wed.  Yet  she  had 
been  long  gone  into  the  skies,  leaving  a  worthy 
example  behind  her  in  twenty  years  of  beautiful 
widowhood.  Her  son,  the  heir  and  resident  of  the 
plantation  at  Cannes  Brulees,  at  the  age  of —  they 
do  say  —  eighteen,  had  married  a  blithe  and  pretty 
lady  of  Franco-Spanish  extraction,  and,  after  a  fair 
length  of  life  divided  between  campaigning  under 
the  brilliant  young  Galvez  and  raising  unremunera- 
tive  indigo  crops,  had  lately  lain  down  to  sleep, 
leaving  only  two  descendants  —  females  —  how 
shall  we  describe  them  ?  —  a  Monk  and  a  Fille  a 
la  Cassette.  It  was  very  hard  to  have  to  go  leaving 
his  family  name  snuffed  out  and  certain  Grandis- 
sime-ward  grievances  burning. 

"  There  are  so  many  Grandissimes,"  said  the 
weary-eyed  Frowenfeld,  "  I  cannot  distinguish  be- 
tween —  I  can  scarcely  count  them." 


Lost  Opportunities  4 1 

"Well,  now,"  said  the  doctor,  "let  me  tell  you, 
don't  try.  Thev  can't  do  it  themselves.  Take 
them  in  the  mass  —  as  you  would  shrimps." 


CHAPTER   VI 

LOST    OPPORTUNITIES 

The  little  doctor  tipped  his  chair  back  against 
the  wall,  drew  up  his  knees,  and  laughed  whimper- 
ingly in  his  freckled  hands. 

"  I  had  to  do  some  prodigious  lying  at  that  ball. 
I  did  n't  dare  let  the  De  Grapion  ladies  know  they 
were  in  company  with  a  Grandissime." 

"  I  thought  you  said  their  name  was  Nancanou." 

"  Well,  certainly  —  De  Grapion-Nancanou.  You 
see,  that  is  one  of  their  charms  :  one  is  a  widow, 
the  other  is  her  daughter,  and  both  as  young  and 
beautiful  as  Hebe.  Ask  Honore  Grandissime ;  he 
has  seen  the  little  widow ;  but  then  he  don't  know 
who  she  is.  He  will  not  ask  me,  and  I  will  not 
tell  him.  Oh,  yes  ;  it  is  about  eighteen  years  now 
since  old  De  Grapion  —  elegant,  high-stepping  old 
fellow  —  married  her,  then  only  sixteen  years  of 
age,  to  young  Nancanou,  an  indigo-planter  on  the 
Fausse  Riviere  —  the  old  bend,  you  know,  behind 
Pointe  Coupee.  The  young  couple  went  there  to 
live.  I  have  been  told  they  had  one  of  the 
prettiest  places  in  Louisiana.  He  was  a  man  of 
cultivated  tastes,  educated  in  Paris,  spoke  English, 


42  The  Grandissimes 

was  handsome  (convivial,  of  course),  and  of  per- 
fectly pure  blood.  But  there  was  one  thing  old 
De  Grapion  overlooked :  he  and  his  son-in-law 
were  the  last  of  their  names.  In  Louisiana  a  man 
needs  kinsfolk.  He  ought  to  have  married  his 
daughter  into  a  strong  house.  They  say  that 
Numa  Grandissime  (Honore's  father)  and  he  had 
patched  up  a  peace  between  the  two  families  that 
included  even  old  Agricola,  and  that  he  could  have 
married  her  to  a  Grandissime.  However,  he  is 
supposed  to  have  known  what  he  was  about. 

"  A  matter  of  business  called  young  Nancanou  to 
New  Orleans.  He  had  no  friends  here ;  he  was  a 
Creole,  but  what  part  of  his  life  had  not  been  spent 
on  his  plantation  he  had  passed  in  Europe.  He 
could  not  leave  his  young  girl  of  a  wife  alone  in 
that  exiled  sort  of  plantation  life,  so  he  brought  her 
and  the  child  (a  girl)  down  with  him  as  far  as  to 
her  father's  place,  left  them  there,  and  came  on  to 
the  city  alone. 

"  Now,  what  does  the  old  man  do  but  give  him 
a  letter  of  introduction  to  old  Agricole  Fusilier  ! 
(His  name  is  Agricola,  but  we  shorten  it  to  Agri- 
cole.)  It  seems  that  old  De  Grapion  and  Agricole 
had  had  the  indiscretion  to  scrape  up  a  mutually 
complimentary  correspondence.  And  to  Agricole 
the  young  man  went. 

"  They  became  intimate  at  once,  drank  together, 
danced  with  the  quadroons  together,  and  got  into 
as  much  mischief  in  three  days  as  I  ever  did  in  a 
fortnight.      So  affairs  went  on  until  by  and  by  they 


Lost  Opportunities  43 

were  gambling  together.  One  night  they  were  at 
the  Piety  Club,  playing  hard,  and  the  planter  lost 
his  last  quarti.  He  became  desperate,  and  did  a 
thing  I  have  known  more  than  one  planter  to  do : 
wrote  his  pledge  for  every  arpent  of  his  land  and 
every  slave  on  it,  and  staked  that.  Agricole  re- 
fused to  play.  '  You  shall  play,'  said  Nancanou, 
and  when  the  game  was  ended  he  said :  '  Monsieur 
Agricola  Fusilier,  you  cheated.'  You  see  ?  Just 
as  I  have  frequently  been  tempted  to  remark  to  my 
friend,  Mr.  Frowenfeld. 

"  But,  Frowenfeld,  you  must  know,  withal  the 
Creoles  are  such  gamblers,  they  never  cheat ;  they 
play  absolutely  fair.  So  Agricole  had  to  challenge 
the  planter.  He  could  not  be  blamed  for  that ; 
there  was  no  choice  —  oh,  now,  Frowenfeld,  keep 
quiet !  I  tell  you  there  was  no  choice.  And  the 
fellow  was  no  coward.  He  sent  Agricole  a  clear 
title  to  the  real  estate  and  slaves,  —  lacking  only 
the  wife's  signature,  —  accepted  the  challenge  and 
fell  dead  at  the  first  fire. 

"  Stop,  now,  and  let  me  finish.  Agricole  sat 
down  and  wrote  to  the  widow  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  deprive  her  of  her  home,  and  that  if  she  would 
state  in  writing  her  belief  that  the  stakes  had  been 
won  fairly,  he  would  give  back  the  whole  estate, 
slaves  and  all ;  but  that  if  she  would  not,  he  should 
feel  compelled  to  retain  it  in  vindication  of  his 
honor.  Now  was  n't  that  drawing  a  fine  point  ?  " 
The  doctor  laughed  according  to  his  habit,  with  his 
face  down  in  his  hands.     "  You  see,  he  wanted  to 


44  The  Grandissimes 

stand  before  all  creation  —  the  Creator  did  not 
make  so  much  difference  —  in  the  most  exquisitely 
proper  light;  so  he  puts  the  laws  of  humanity 
under  his  feet,  and  anoints  himself  from  head  to 
foot  with  Creole  punctilio." 

"  Did  she  sign  the  paper  ?  "  asked  Joseph. 

"  She  ?  Wait  till  you  know  her  !  No,  indeed  ; 
she  had  the  true  scorn.  She  and  her  father  sent 
down  another  and  a  better  title.  Creole-like,  they 
managed  to  bestir  themselves  to  that  extent  and 
there  they  stopped. 

"  And  the  airs  with  which  they  did  it !  They 
kept  all  their  rage  to  themselves,  and  sent  the 
polite  word,  that  they  were  not  acquainted  with 
the  merits  of  the  case,  that  they  were  not  disposed 
to  make  the  long  and  arduous  trip  to  the  city  and 
back,  and  that  if  M.  Fusilier  de  Grandissime 
thought  he  could  find  any  pleasure  or  profit  in 
owning  the  place,  he  was  welcome ;  that  the  widow 
of  his  late  friend  was  not  disposed  to  live  on  it,  but 
would  remain  with  her  father  at  the  paternal  home 
at  Cannes  Brulees. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  more  perfect  specimen 
of  Creole  pride?  That  is  the  way  with  all  of  them. 
Show  me  any  Creole,  or  any  number  of  Creoles, 
in  any  sort  of  contest,  and  right  down  at  the  foun- 
dation of  it  all,  I  will  find  you  this  same  prepos- 
terous, apathetic,  fantastic,  suicidal  pride.  It  is  as 
lethargic  and  ferocious  as  an  alligator.  That  is 
why  the  Creole  almost  always  is  (or  thinks  he  is) 
on  the  defensive.     See  these  De  Grapions*  haughty 


Lost  Opportunities  45 

good  manners  to  old  Agricole ;  yet  there  was  n't 
a  Grandissime  in  Louisiana  who  could  have  set 
foot  on  the  De  Grapion  lands  but  at  the  risk  of 
his  life. 

"  But  I  will  finish  the  story  :  and  here  is  the 
really  sad  part.  Not  many  months  ago  old  De 
Grapion  —  '  old,'  said  I ;  they  don't  grow  old  ;  I 
call  him  old  —  a  few  months  ago  he  died.  He  must 
have  left  everything  smothered  in  debt;  for,  like  his 
race,  he  had  stuck  to  indigo  because  his  father 
planted  it,  and  it  is  a  crop  that  has  lost  money 
steadily  for  years  and  years.  His  daughter  and 
granddaughter  were  left  like  babes  in  the  wood ; 
and,  to  crown  their  disasters,  have  now  made  the 
grave  mistake  of  coming  to  the  city,  where  they 
find  they  have  n't  a  friend  —  not  one,  sir  !  They 
called  me  in  to  prescribe  for  a  trivial  indisposition, 
shortly  after  their  arrival  ;  and  I  tell  you,  Frowen- 
feld,  it  made  me  shiver  to  see  two  such  beautiful 
women  in  such  a  town  as  this  without  a  male  pro- 
tector, and  even" — the  doctor  lowered  his  voice 
—  "  without  adequate  support.  The  mother  says 
they  are  perfectly  comfortable  ;  tells  the  old  couple 
so  who  took  them  to  the  ball,  and  whose  little  girl 
is  their  embroidery  scholar ;  but  you  cannot  believe 
a  Creole  on  that  subject,  and  I  don't  believe  her. 
Would  you  like  to  make  their  acquaintance  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  hesitated,  disliking  to  say  no  to  his 
friend,  and  then  shook  his  head. 

"  After  a  while  —  at  least  not  now,  sir,  if  you 
please." 


46  The  Grandissimes 

The  doctor  made  a  gesture  of  disappointment. 

"  Um-hura,"  he  said  grumly  —  "the  only  man 
in  New  Orleans  I  would  honor  with  an  invitation  ! 
—  but  all  right ;   I  '11  go  alone." 

He  laughed  a  little  at  himself,  and  left  Frowen- 
feld,  if  ever  he  should  desire  it,  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  his  pretty  neighbors  as  best  he  could. 


CHAPTER   VII 

WAS    IT    HONORE    GRANDISSIME? 

A  Creole  gentleman,  on  horseback  one  morning 
with  some  practical  object  in  view,  —  drainage,  pos- 
sibly,—  had  got  what  he  sought,  —  the  evidence  of 
his  own  eyes  on  certain  points,  —  and  now  moved 
quietly  across  some  old  fields  toward  the  town, 
where  more  absorbing  interests  awaited  him  in  the 
Rue  Toulouse ;  for  this  Creole  gentleman  was  a 
merchant,  and  because  he  would  presently  find  him- 
self among  the  appointments  and  restraints  of  the 
counting-room,  he  heartily  gave  himself  up,  for  the 
moment,  to  the  surrounding  influences  of  nature. 

It  was  late  in  November;  but  the  air  was  mild 
and  the  grass  and  foliage  green  and  dewy.  Wild 
flowers  bloomed  plentifully  and  in  all  directions ; 
the  bushes  were  hung,  and  often  covered,  with  vines 
of  sprightly  green,  sprinkled  thickly  with  smart- 
looking  little  worthless  berries,  whose  sparkling 
complacency  the  combined  contempt  of  man,  beast 


Was  it  Honore  Grandissime  ?  47 

and  bird  could  not  dim.  The  call  of  the  field-lark 
came  continually  out  of  the  grass,  where  now  and 
then  could  be  seen  his  yellow  breast ;  the  orchard 
oriole  was  executing  his  fantasias  in  every  tree ;  a 
covey  of  partridges  ran  across  the  path  close  under 
the  horse's  feet,  and  stopped  to  look  back  almost 
within  reach  of  the  riding-whip  ;  clouds  of  starlings, 
in  their  odd,  irresolute  way,  rose  from  the  high  bul- 
rushes and  settled  again,  without  discernible  cause ; 
little  wandering  companies  of  sparrows  undulated 
from  hedge  to  hedge ;  a  great  rabbit-hawk  sat  alone 
in  the  top  of  a  lofty  pecan-tree ;  that  petted  rowdy, 
the  mocking-bird,  dropped  down  into  the  path  to 
offer  fight  to  the  horse,  and,  failing  in  that,  flew  up 
again  and  drove  a  crow  into  ignominious  retirement 
beyond  the  plain ;  from  a  place  of  flags  and  reeds  a 
white  crane  shot  upward,  turned,  and  then,  with  the 
slow  and  stately  beat  peculiar  to  her  wing,  sped 
away  until,  against  the  tallest  cypress  of  the  distant 
forest,  she  became  a  tiny  white  speck  on  its  black, 
and  suddenly  disappeared,  like  one  flake  of  snow. 

The  scene  was  altogether  such  as  to  fill  any  hearty 
soul  with  impulses  of  genial  friendliness  and  gentle 
candor;  such  a  scene  as  will  sometimes  prepare  a 
man  of  the  world,  upon  the  least  direct  incentive,  to 
throw  open  the  windows  of  his  private  thought  with 
a  freedom  which  the  atmosphere  of  no  counting- 
room  or  drawing-room  tends  to  induce. 

The  young  merchant  —  he  was  young  —  felt  this. 
Moreover,  the  matter  of  business  which  had  brought 
him  out  had  responded  to  his  inquiring  eye  with  a 


4-8  The  Grandissimes 

somewhat  golden  radiance ;  and  your  true  man  of 
business  —  he  who  has  reached  that  elevated  pitch 
of  serene,  good-natured  reserve  which  is  of  the  high 
art  of  his  calling  —  is  never  so  generous  with  his 
pennyworths  of  thought  as  when  newly  in  posses- 
sion of  some  little  secret  worth  many  pounds. 

By  and  by  the  behavior  of  the  horse  indicated 
the  near  presence  of  a  stranger;  and  the  next 
moment  the  rider  drew  rein  under  an  immense  live- 
oak  where  there  was  a  bit  of  paling  about  some 
graves,  and  raised  his  hat. 

"  Good-morning,  sir."  But  for  the  silent  r's,  his 
pronunciation  was  exact,  yet  evidently  an  acquired 
one.  While  he  spoke  his  salutation  in  English,  he 
was  thinking  in  French :  "  Without  doubt,  this 
rather  oversized,  bareheaded,  interrupted-looking 
convalescent  who  stands  before  me,  wondering  how 
I  should  know  in  what  language  to  address  him,  is 
Joseph  Frowenfeld,  of  whom  Doctor  Keene  has  had 
so  much  to  say  to  me.  A  good  face  —  unsophisti- 
cated, but  intelligent,  mettlesome  and  honest.  He 
will  make  his  mark ;  it  will  probably  be  a  white 
one ;  I  will  subscribe  to  the  adventure. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  sir  ?  "  he  asked  after  a  pause, 
dismounting,  and  noticing,  as  he  did  so,  that  Frow- 
enfeld's  knees  showed  recent  contact  with  the  turf; 
"  I  have,  myself,  some  interest  in  two  of  these 
graves,  sir,  as  I  suppose  —  you  will  pardon  my 
freedom  —  you  have  in  the  other  four." 

He  approached  the  old  but  newly  whitened 
paling,  which  encircled  the  tree's  trunk  as  well  as 


Was  it  Honore  Grandissime  ?  49 

the  six  graves  about  it.  There  was  in  his  face  and 
manner  a  sort  of  impersonal  human  kindness,  well 
calculated  to  engage  a  diffident  and  sensitive  stranger, 
standing  in  dread  of  gratuitous  benevolence  or  pity. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  convalescent,  and  ceased ; 
but  the  other  leaned  against  the  palings  in  an  atti- 
tude of  attention,  and  he  felt  induced  to  add  :  "  I 
have  buried  here  my  father,  mother,  and  two  sisters," 
—  he  had  expected  to  continue  in  an  unemotional 
tone ;  but  a  deep  respiration  usurped  the  place  of 
speech.  He  stooped  quickly  to  pick  up  his  hat, 
and,  as  he  rose  again  and  looked  into  his  listener's 
face,  the  respectful,  unobtrusive  sympathy  there 
expressed  went  directly  to  his  heart. 

"  Victims  of  the  fever,"  said  the  Creole  with 
great  gravity.     "  How  did  that  happen  ?  " 

As  Frowenfeld,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
began  to  speak,  the  stranger  let  go  the  bridle  of  his 
horse  and  sat  down  upon  the  turf.  Joseph  appre- 
ciated the  courtesy  and  sat  down,  too  ;  and  thus 
the  ice  was  broken. 

The  immigrant  told  his  story  ;  he  was  young  — 
often  younger  than  his  years  —  and  his  listener 
several  years  his  senior ;  but  the  Creole,  true  to 
his  blood,  was  able  at  any  time  to  make  himself  as 
young  as  need  be,  and  possessed  the  rare  magic  of 
drawing  one's  confidence  without  seeming  to  do 
more  than  merely  pay  attention.  It  followed  that 
the  story  was  told  in  full  detail,  including  grateful 
acknowledgment  of  the  goodness  of  an  unknown 
friend,  who  had  granted  this  burial-place  on  condi- 
4 


50  The  Grandissimes 

tion  that  he  should  not  be  sought  out  for  the  pur- 
pose of  thanking  him. 

So  a  considerable  time  passed  by,  in  which 
acquaintance  grew  with  delightful  rapidity. 

"  What  will  you  do  now  ? "  asked  the  stranger, 
when  a  short  silence  had  followed  the  conclusion 
of  the  story. 

"  I  hardly  know.  I  am  taken  somewhat  by  sur- 
prise. I  have  not  chosen  a  definite  course  in  life — 
as  yet.  I  have  been  a  general  student,  but  have 
not  prepared  myself  for  any  profession  ;  I  am  not 
sure  what  I  shall  be." 

A  certain  energy  in  the  immigrant's  face  half 
redeemed  this  childlike  speech.  Yet  the  Creole's 
lips,  as  he  opened  them  to  reply,  betrayed  amuse- 
ment ;  so  he  hastened  to  say  : 

"  I  appreciate  your  position,  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  — 
excuse  me,  I  believe  you  said  that  was  your  father's 
name.  And  yet,"  —  the  shadow  of  an  amused 
smile  lurked  another  instant  about  a  corner  of  his 
mouth, —  "  if  you  would  understand  me  kindly  I 
would  say,  take  care " 

What  little  blood  the  convalescent  had  rushed 
violently  to  his  face,  and  the  Creole  added  : 

"  I  do  not  insinuate  you  would  willingly  be  idle. 
I  think  I  know  what  you  want.  You  want  to 
make  up  your  mind  now  what  you  will  do,  and  at 
your  leisure  what  you  will  be ;  eh  ?  To  be,  it 
seems  to  me,"  he  said  in  summing  up,  —  "that  to 
be  is  not  so  necessary  as  to  do,  eh  ?  or  am  I  wrong  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Joseph,  still  red,  "  I  was  feel- 


Was  it  Honore  Grandissime  ?  5  1 

ing  that  just  now.  I  will  do  the  first  thing  that 
offers  ;   I  can  dig." 

The  Creole  shrugged  and  pouted. 

"And  be  called  a  dos  brile  —  a  '  burnt-back.'  " 

"  But  " began  the  immigrant,  with  over- 
much warmth. 

The  other  interrupted  him,  shaking  his  head 
slowly  and  smiling  as   he  spoke. 

"  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  it  is  of  no  use  to  talk  ;  you 
may  hold  in  contempt  the  Creole  scorn  of  toil  — 
just  as  I  do,  myself,  but  in  theory,  my-de'-seh,  not 
too  much  in  practice.  You  cannot  afford  to  be 
entirely  different  from  the  community  in  which  you 
live  ;  is  that  not  so  ?  " 

"  A  friend  of  mine,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "  has  told 
me  I  must  'compromise.'  " 

"  You  must  get  acclimated,"  responded  the 
Creole ;  "  not  in  body  only,  that  you  have  done ; 
but  in  mind  —  in  taste  —  in  conversation  —  and  in 
convictions  too,  yes,  ha,  ha  !  They  all  do  it — all 
who  come.  They  hold  out  a  little  while —  a  very 
little ;  then  they  open  their  stores  on  Sunday,  they 
import  cargoes  of  Africans,  they  bribe  the  officials, 
they  smuggle  goods,  they  have  colored  house- 
keepers. My-de'-seh,  the  water  must  expect  to 
take  the  shape  of  the  bucket;  eh?" 

"  One  need  not  be  water !  "  said  the  immigrant. 

"Ah!"  said  the  Creole,  with  another  amiable 
shrug,  and  a  wave  of  his  hand ;  "  certainly  you  do 
not  suppose  that  is  my  advice  —  that  those  things 
have  my  approval." 


52 


The  Grandissimes 


Must  we  repeat  already  that  Frowenfeld  was 
abnormally  young  ?  "  Why  have  they  not  your 
condemnation  ?  "  cried  he  with  an  earnestness  that 
made  the  Creole's  horse  drop  the  grass  from  his 
teeth  and  wheel  half  around. 

The  answer  came  slowly  and  gently. 

"  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  my  habit  is  to  buy  cheap  and 
sell  at  a  profit.  My  condemnation  ?  My-de'-seh, 
there  is  no  sa-a-ale  for  it  !  it  spoils  the  sale  of  other 
goods,  my-de'-seh.  It  is  not  to  condemn  that  you 
want;  you  want  to  suc-ceed.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  you  see 
I  am  a  merchant,  eh  ?  My-de'-seh,  can  you  afford 
not  to  succeed  ?  " 

The  speaker  had  grown  very  much  in  earnest  in 
the  course  of  these  few  words,  and  as  he  asked  the 
closing  question,  arose,  arranged  his  horse's  bridle 
and,  with  his  elbow  in  the  saddle,  leaned  his  hand- 
some head  on  his  equally  beautiful  hand.  His 
whole  appearance  was  a  dazzling  contradiction  of 
the  notion  that  a  Creole  is  a  person  of  mixed  blood. 

"  I  think  I  can  !  "  replied  the  convalescent,  with 
much  spirit,  rising  with  more  haste  than  was  good, 
and  staggering  a  moment. 

The  horseman  laughed  outright. 

"  Your  principle  is  the  best,  I  cannot  dispute 
that ;  but  whether  you  can  act  it  out  —  reformers 
do  not  make  money,  you  know."  He  examined 
his  saddle-girth  and  began  to  tighten  it.  "  One 
can  condemn  —  too  cautiously  —  by  a  kind  of — 
elevated  cowardice  (I  have  that  fault) ;  but  one  can 
also  condemn  too  rashly  ;   I   remember  when  I  did 


Was  it  Honore  Grandissime  ?  53 

so.  One  of  the  occupants  of  those  two  graves 
you  see  yonder  side  by  side —  I  think  might  have 
lived  longer  if  I  had  not  spoken  so  rashly  for  his 
rights.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Bras-Coupe,  Mr. 
Frowenfeld  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  only  the  name." 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  there  was  a  bold  man's 
chance  to  denounce  wrong  and  oppression  !  Why, 
that  negro's  death  changed  the  whole  channel  of 
my  convictions." 

The  speaker  had  turned  and  thrown  up  his  arm 
with  frowning  earnestness  ;  he  dropped  it  and 
smiled  at  himself. 

"  Do  not  mistake  me  for  one  of  your  new- 
fashioned  Philadelphia  '  negrophiles'  ;  I  am  a  mer- 
chant, my-de'-seh,  a  good  subject  of  His  Catholic 
Majesty,  a  Creole  of  the  Creoles,  and  so  forth,  and 
so  forth.     Come  !  " 

He  slapped  the  saddle. 

To  have  seen  and  heard  them  a  little  later  as  they 
moved  toward  the  city,  the  Creole  walking  before 
the  horse,  and  Frowenfeld  sitting  in  the  saddle, 
you  might  have  supposed  them  old  acquaintances. 
Yet  the  immigrant  was  wondering  who  his  com- 
panion might  be.  He  had  not  introduced  himself 
—  seemed  to  think  that  even  an  immigrant  might 
know  his  name  without  asking.  Was  it  Honore 
Grandissime?  Joseph  was  tempted  to  guess  so; 
but  the  initials  inscribed  on  the  silver-mounted 
pommel  of  the  fine  old  Spanish  saddle  did  not  bear 
out  that  conjecture. 


54  The  Grandissimes 

The  stranger  talked  freely.  The  sun's  rays 
seemed  to  set  all  the  sweetness  in  him  a-working, 
and  his  pleasant  worldly  wisdom  foamed  up  and 
out  like  fermenting  honey. 

By  and  by  the  way  led  through  a  broad,  grassy 
lane  where  the  path  turned  alternately  to  right  and 
left  among  some  wild  acacias.  The  Creole  waved 
his  hand  toward  one  of  them  and  said  : 

"  Now,  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  you  see  ?  one  man  walks 
where  he  sees  another's  track ;  that  is  what  makes  a 
path  ;  but  you  want  a  man,  instead  of  passing  around 
this  prickly  bush,  to  lay  hold  of  it  with  his  naked 
hands  and  pull   it  up  by  the  roots." 

"  But  a  man  armed  with  the  truth  is  far  from 
being  barehanded,"  replied  the  convalescent,  and 
they  went  on,  more  and  more  interested  at  every 
step,  —  one  in  this  very  raw  imported  material  for 
an  excellent  man,  the  other  in  so  striking  an  expo- 
nent of  a  unique  land  and  people. 

They  came  at  length  to  the  crossing  of  two  streets, 
and  the  Creole,  pausing  in  his  speech,  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  bridle. 

Frowenfeld  dismounted. 

"  Do  we  part  here?  "  asked  the  Creole.  "  Well, 
Mr.  Frowenfeld,  I  hope  to  meet  you  soon  again." 

"  Indeed,  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Joseph,  "  and  I 
hope  we  shall,  although  —  " 

The  Creole  paused  with  a  foot  in  the  stirrup  and 
interrupted  him  with  a  playful  gesture ;  then  as  the 
horse  stirred,  he  mounted  and  drew  in  the  rein. 

"  I  know ;  you  want  to  say  you  cannot  accept  my 


Signed  —  Honore  Grandissime  55 

philosophy  and  I  cannot  appreciate  yours ;  but  I 
appreciate   it  more   than  you  think,  my-de'-seh." 

The  convalescent's  smile  showed  much  fatigue. 

The  Creole  extended  his  hand ;  the  immigrant 
seized  it,  wished  to  ask  his  name,  but  did  not ;  and 
the  next  moment  he  was  gone. 

The  convalescent  walked  meditatively  toward  his 
quarters,  with  a  faint  feeling  of  having  been  found 
asleep  on  duty  and  awakened  by  a  passing  stranger. 
It  was  an  unpleasant  feeling,  and  he  caught  himself 
more  than  once  shaking  his  head.  He  stopped,  at 
length,  and  looked  back ;  but  the  Creole  was  long 
since  out  of  sight.  The  mortified  self-accuser  little 
knew  how  very  similar  a  feeling  that  vanished  person 
was  carrying  away  with  him.  He  turned  and  re- 
sumed his  walk,  wondering  who  Monsieur  might 
be,  and  a  little  impatient  with  himself  that  he  had 
not  asked. 

"  It  is  Honore  Grandissime  ;  it  must  be  he  !  "  he 
said. 

Yet  see  how  soon  he  felt  obliged  to  change  his 
mind. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

SIGNED HONORE    GRANDISSIME 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  having  decided 
what  he  would  "  do,"  he  started  out  in  search  of 
new  quarters.  He  found  nothing  then,  but  next 
morning  came  upon  a  small,  single-story  building 


56  The  Grandissimes 

in  the  rue  Royale,  —  corner  of  Conti, —  which  he 
thought  would  suit  his  plans.  There  were  a  door 
and  show-window  in  the  rue  Royale,  two  doors  in 
the  intersecting  street,  and  a  small  apartment  in 
the  rear  which  would  answer  for  sleeping,  eating, 
and  studying  purposes,  and  which  connected  with 
the  front  apartment  by  a  door  in  the  left-hand 
corner.  This  connection  he  would  partially  con- 
ceal by  a  prescription-desk.  A  counter  would  run 
lengthwise  toward  the  rue  Royale,  along  the  wall 
opposite  the  side-doors.  Such  was  the  spot  that 
soon  became  known  as  "  Frowenfeld's  Corner." 

The  notice  "  A  Louer  "  directed  him  to  inquire 
at  numero  —  rue  Conde.  Here  he  was  ushered 
through  the  wicket  of  a  forte  cochere  into  a  broad, 
paved  corridor,  and  up  a  stair  into  a  large,  cool 
room,  and  into  the  presence  of  a  man  who  seemed, 
in  some  respects,  the  most  remarkable  figure  he  had 
yet  seen  in  this  little  city  of  strange  people.  A 
strong,  clear,  olive  complexion  ;  features  that  were 
faultless  (unless  a  woman-like  delicacy,  that  was  yet 
not  effeminate,  was  a  fault) ;  hair  en  queue,  the 
handsomer  for  its  premature  streakings  of  gray ;  a 
tall,  well  knit  form,  attired  in  cloth,  linen  and  leather 
of  the  utmost  fineness ;  manners  Castilian,  with  a 
gravity  almost  oriental,  —  made  him  one  of  those 
rare  masculine  figures  which,  on  the  public  prome- 
nade, men  look  back  at  and  ladies  inquire  about. 

Now,  who  might  this  be  ?  The  rent  poster  had 
given  no  name.  Even  the  incurious  Frowenfeld 
would  fain  guess  a  little.      For  a  man  to  be  just  of 


Signed  —  Honore  Grandissime  57 

this  sort,  it  seemed  plain  that  he  must  live  in  an 
isolated  ease  upon  the  unceasing  droppings  of  cou- 
pons, rents,  and  like  receivables.  Such  was  the 
immigrant's  first  conjecture  ;  and,  as  with  slow,  scant 
questions  and  answers  they  made  their  bargain, 
every  new  glance  strengthened  it ;  he  was  evidently 
a  rentier.  What,  then,  was  his  astonishment  when 
Monsieur  bent  down  and  made  himself  Frowenfeld's 
landlord,  by  writing  what  the  universal  mind  es- 
teemed the  synonym  of  enterprise  and  activity  — 
the  name  of  Honore  Grandissime.  The  landlord 
did  not  see,  or  ignored,  his  tenant's  glance  of  sur- 
prise, and  the  tenant  asked  no  questions. 

We  may  add  here  an  incident  which  seemed, 
when  it  took  place,  as  unimportant  as  a  single 
fact  well   could  be. 

The  little  sum  that  Frowenfeld  had  inherited 
from  his  father  had  been  sadly  depleted  by  the 
expenses  of  four  funerals  ;  yet  he  was  still  able  to 
pay  a  month's  rent  in  advance,  to  supply  his  shop 
with  a  scant  stock  of  drugs,  to  purchase  a  celestial 
globe  and  some  scientific  apparatus,  and  to  buy  a 
dinner  or  two  of  sausages  and  crackers;  but  after 
this  there  was  no  necessity  of  hiding  his  purse. 

His  landlord  early  contracted  a  fondness  for  drop- 
ping in  upon  him,  and  conversing  with  him,  as  best 
the  few  and  labored  English  phrases  at  his  command 
would  allow.  Frowenfeld  soon  noticed  that  he 
never  entered  the  shop  unless  its  proprietor  was 
alone,  never  sat   down,  and  always,  with  the  same 


58  The  Grandissimes 

perfection  of  dignity  that  characterized  ail  his  move- 
ments, departed  immediately  upon  the  arrival  of  any 
third  person.  One  day,  when  the  landlord  was 
making  one  of  these  standing  calls,  —  he  always 
stood  beside  a  high  glass  case,  on  the  side  of  the 
shop  opposite  the  counter,  —  he  noticed  in  Joseph's 
hand  a  sprig  of  basil,  and  spoke  of  it. 

"  You  ligue  ?  " 

The  tenant  did  not  understand.  "You  —  find  — 
dad  —  nize  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  replied  that  it  had  been  left  by  the 
oversight  of  a  customer,  and  expressed  a  liking  for 
its  odor. 

"I  sand  you,"  said  the  landlord,  —  a  speech 
whose  meaning  Frowenfeld  was  not  sure  of  until 
the  next  morning,  when  a  small,  nearly  naked 
black  boy,  who  could  not  speak  a  word  of  English, 
brought  to  the  apothecary  a  luxuriant  bunch  of  this 
basil,  growing  in  a  rough  box. 


CHAPTER    IX 

ILLUSTRATING    THE     TRACTIVE     POWER    OF    BASIL 

On  the  twenty-fourth  day  of  December,  1803,  at 
two  o'clock,  p.  m.,  the  thermometer  standing  at 
79,  hygrometer  17,  barometer  29.880,  sky  partly 
clouded,  wind  west,  light,  the  apothecary  of  the  rue 
Royale,  now  something  more  than  a  month  estab- 
lished in  his  calling,  might  have  been  seen  standing 


Illustrating  the  Tractive  Power  of  Basil      59 

behind  his  counter  and  beginning  to  show  embarrass- 
ment in  the  presence  of  a  lady,  who,  since  she  had 
got  her  prescription  filled  and  had  paid  for  it,  ought 
in  the  conventional  course  of  things  to  have  hurried 
out,  followed  by  the  pathetically  ugly  black  woman 
who  tarried  at  the  door  as  her  attendant ;  for  to  be 
in  an  apothecary's  shop  at  all  was  unconventional. 
She  was  heavily  veiled;  but  the  sparkle  of  her  eyes, 
which  no  multiplication  of  veils  could  quite  extin- 
guish, her  symmetrical  and  well-fitted  figure,  just 
escaping  smallness,  her  grace  of  movement,  and  a 
soft,  joyous  voice,  had  several  days  before  led 
Frowenfeld  to  the  confident  conclusion  that  she 
was   young   and  beautiful. 

For  this  was  now  the  third  time  she  had  come 
to  buy ;  and,  though  the  purchases  were  unaccount- 
ably trivial,  the  purchaser  seemed  not  so.  On  the 
two  previous  occasions  she  had  been  accompanied 
by  a  slender  girl,  somewhat  taller  than  she,  veiled 
also,  of  graver  movement,  a  bearing  that  seemed 
to  Joseph  almost  too  regal,  and  a  discernible  un- 
willingness to  enter  or  tarry.  There  seemed  a  cer- 
tain family  resemblance  between  her  voice  and  that 
of  the  other,  which  proclaimed  them — he  incau- 
tiously assumed  —  sisters.  This  time,  as  we  see, 
the  smaller,  and  probably  elder,  came  alone. 

She  still  held  in  her  hand  the  small  silver  which 
Frowenfeld  had  given  her  in  change,  and  sighed 
after  the  laugh  they  had  just  enjoyed  together  over 
a  slip  in  her  English.  A  very  grateful  sip  of  sweet 
the  laugh  was  to  the  all  but  friendless  apothecary, 


60  The  Grandissimes 

and  the  embarrassment  that  rushed  in  after  it  may 
have  arisen  in  part  from  a  conscious  casting  about 
in  his  mind  for  something  —  anything  —  that  might 
prolong  her  stay  an  instant.  He  opened  his  lips 
to  speak ;  but  she  was  quicker  than  he,  and  said, 
in  a  stealthy  way  that  seemed  oddly  unnecessary  : 

"  You  'ave  some  basilic  ?  " 

She  accompanied  her  words  with  a  little  peeping 
movement,  directing  his  attention,  through  the  open 
door,  to  his  box  of  basil,  on  the  floor  in  the  rear 
room. 

Frowenfeld  stepped  back  to  it,  cut  half  the  bunch 
and  returned,  with  the  bold  intention  of  making 
her  a  present  of  it ;  but  as  he  hastened  back  to  the 
spot  he  had  left,  he  was  astonished  to  see  the  lady 
disappearing  from  his  farthest  front  door,  followed 
by  her  negress. 

"  Did  she  change  her  mind,  or  did  she  misunder- 
stand me?"  he  asked  himself;  and,  in  the  hope 
that  she  might  return  for  the  basil,  he  put  it  in 
water  in  his  back  room. 

The  day  being,  as  the  figures  have  already  shown, 
an  unusually  mild  one,  even  for  a  Louisiana 
December,  and  the  finger  of  the  clock  drawing  by 
and  by  toward  the  last  hour  of  sunlight,  some  half 
dozen  of  Frowenfeld's  townsmen  had  gathered, 
inside  and  out,  some  standing,  some  sitting,  about 
his  front  door,  and  all  discussing  the  popular  topics 
of  the  day.  For  it  might  have  been  anticipated 
that,  in  a  city  where  so  very  little  English  was 
spoken    and    no   newspaper   published   except   that 


Illustrating  the  Tractive  Power  of  Basil      6  i 

beneficiary  of  eighty  subscribers,  the  "  Moniteur 
de  la  Louisiane,"  the  apothecary's  shop  in  the  rue 
Royale  would  be  the  rendezvous  for  a  select  com- 
pany of  English-speaking  gentlemen,  with  a  smart 
majority  of  physicians. 

The  Cession  had  become  an  accomplished  fact. 
With  due  drum-beatings  and  act-reading,  flag-rais- 
ing, cannonading  and  galloping  of  aides-de-camp, 
Nouvelle  Orleans  had  become  New  Orleans,  and 
Louisiane  was  Louisiana.  This  afternoon,  the  first 
week  of  American  jurisdiction  was  only  something 
over  half  gone,  and  the  main  topic  of  public  debate 
was  still  the  Cession.  Was  it  genuine  ?  and,  if  so, 
would  it  stand  ? 

"  Mark  my  words,"  said  one,  "  the  British  flag 
will  be  floating  over  this  town  within  ninety  days  '  " 
and  he  went  on  whittling  the  back  of  his  chair. 

From  this  main  question,  the  conversation 
branched  out  to  the  subject  of  land  titles.  Would 
that  great  majority  of  Spanish  titles,  derived  from 
the  concessions  of  post-commandants  and  others 
of  minor  authority,  hold  good  ? 

"  I   suppose  you  know  what  thinks  about 

it?" 

"  No." 

"  Well,  he  has  quietly  purchased  the  grant  made 
by  Carondelet  to  the  Marquis  of ,  thirty  thou- 
sand acres,  and  now  says  the  grant  is  two  hundred 
and  thirty  thousand.  That  is  one  style  of  men 
Governor  Claiborne  is  going  to  have  on  his  hands. 
The  town  will   presently  be  as  full  of  them  as  my 


62  The  Grandissimes 

pocket  is  of  tobacco  crumbs,  —  every  one  of  them 
with  a  Spanish  grant  as  long  as  Clark's  ropewalk 
and  made  up  since  the  rumor  of  the  Cession." 

"  I  hear  that  some  of  Honore  Grandissime's  titles 
are  likely  to  turn  out  bad,  —  some  of  the  old  Brah- 
min properties  and  some  of  the  Mandarin  lands." 

"  Fudge  !  "  said  Dr.  Keene. 

There  was  also  the  subject  of  rotation  in  office. 
Would  this  provisional  governor-general  himself  be 
able  to  stand  fast?  Had  not  a  man  better  tempo- 
rize a  while,  and  see  what  Ex-Governor-general  Casa 
Calvo  and  Trudeau  were  going  to  do  ?  Would  not 
men  who  sacrificed  old  prejudices,  braved  the  pop- 
ular contumely,  and  came  forward  and  gave  in  their 
allegiance  to  the  President's  appointee,  have  to  take 
the  chances  of  losing  their  official  positions  at  last  ? 
Men  like  Camille  Brahmin,  for  instance,  or  Charlie 
Mandarin  :  suppose  Spain  or  France  should  get  the 
province  back,  then  where  would  they  be? 

"  One  of  the  things  I  pity  most  in  this  vain 
world,"  drawled  Doctor  Keene,  "  is  a  hive  of  patriots 
who  don't  know  where  to  swarm." 

The  apothecary  was  drawn  into  the  discussion  — 
at  least  he  thought  he  was.  Inexperience  is  apt  to 
think  that  Truth  will  be  knocked  down  and  mur- 
dered unless  she  comes  to  the  rescue.  Somehow, 
Frowenfeld's  really  excellent  arguments  seemed  to 
give  out  more  heat  than  light.  They  were  merci- 
less ;  their  principles  were  not  only  lofty  to  dizzi- 
ness, but  precipitous,  and  their  heights  unoccupied, 
and  —  to    the   common    sight  —  unattainable.       In 


Illustrating  the  Tractive  Power  of  Basil      63 

consequence,  they  provoked  hostility  and  even 
resentment.  With  the  kindest,  the  most  honest, 
and  even  the  most  modest,  intentions,  he  found 
himself — to  his  bewilderment  and  surprise  —  sniffed 
at  by  the  ungenerous,  frowned  upon  by  the  impa- 
tient, and  smiled  down  by  the  good-natured  in  a 
manner  that  brought  sudden  blushes  of  exasperation 
to  his  face,  and  often  made  him  ashamed  to  find  him- 
self going  over  these  sham  battles  again  in  much 
savageness  of  spirit,  when  alone  with  his  books  ;  or, 
in  moments  of  weakness,  casting  about  for  such  un- 
worthy weapons  as  irony  and  satire.  In  the  present 
debate,  he  had  just  provoked  a  sneer  that  made  his 
blood  leap  and  his  friends  laugh,  when  Doctor 
Keene,  suddenly  rising  and  beckoning  across  the 
street,  exclaimed : 

"Oh!  Agricole  !  Agricole  !  venez  ici ;  we  want 
you." 

A  murmur  of  vexed  protest  arose  from  two  or 
three. 

"  He  *s  coming,"  said  the  whittler,  who  had  also 
beckoned. 

"  Good  evening,  Citizen  Fusilier,"  said  Doctor 
Keene.  "  Citizen  Fusilier,  allow  me  to  present  my 
friend,  Professor  Frowenfeld  —  yes,  you  are  a  pro- 
fessor—  yes,  you  are.  He  is  one  of  your  sort, 
Citizen  Fusilier,  a  man  of  thorough  scientific  edu- 
cation. I  believe  on  my  soul,  sir,  he  knows  nearly 
as  much  as  you  do  !  " 

The  person  who  confronted  the  apothecary  was  a 
large,  heavily   built,  but  well-molded   and  vigorous 


64  The  Grandissimes 

man,  of  whom  one  might  say  that  he  was  adorned 
with  old  age.  His  brow  was  dark,  and  furrowed 
partly  by  time  and  partly  by  a  persistent,  ostentatious 
frown.  His  eyes  were  large,  black,  and  bold,  and 
the  gray  locks  above  them  curled  short  and  harsh 
like  the  front  of  a  bull.  His  nose  was  fine  and 
strong,  and  if  there  was  any  deficiency  in  mouth  or 
chin,  it  was  hidden  by  a  beard  that  swept  down 
over  his  broad  breast  like  the  beard  of  a  prophet. 
In  his  dress,  which  was  noticeably  soiled,  the  fash- 
ions of  three  decades  were  hinted  at ;  he  seemed 
to  have  donned  whatever  he  thought  his  friends 
would  most  have  liked  him  to  leave  off. 

"  Professor,"  said  the  old  man,  extending  some- 
thing like  the  paw  of  a  lion,  and  giving  Frowenfeld 
plenty  of  time  to  become  thoroughly  awed,  "this  is 
a  pleasure  as  magnificent  as  unexpected  !  A  scien- 
tific man? — in  Louisiana?"  He  looked  around 
upon  the  doctors  as  upon  a  graduating  class. 
"  Professor,  I  am  rejoiced  !  "  He  paused  again, 
shaking  the  apothecary's  hand  with  great  ceremony. 
"  I  do  assure  you,  sir,  I  dislike  to  relinquish  your 
grasp.  Do  me  the  honor  to  allow  me  to  become 
your  friend !  I  congratulate  my  down-trodden 
country  on  the  acquisition  of  such  a  citizen  !  I 
hope,  sir,  —  at  least  I  might  have  hoped,  had  not 
Louisiana  just  passed  into  the  hands  of  the  most 
clap-trap  government  in  the  universe,  notwithstand- 
ing it  pretends  to  be  a  republic,  —  I  might  have 
hoped  that  you  had  come  among  us  to  fasten  the 
lie    direct    upon    a    late   author,  who  writes   of  us 


Illustrating  the  Tractive  Power  of  Basil      65 

that    '  the    air    of    this    region    is    deadly    to    the 
Muses.'  " 

"He  didn't  say  that?"  asked  one  of  the  debaters, 
with  pretended  indignation. 

"  He  did,  sir,  after  eating  our  bread  ! " 

"  And  sucking  our  sugar-cane,  too,  no  doubt ! " 
said  the  wag ;  but  the  old  man  took  no  notice. 

Frowenfeld,  naturally,  was  not  anxious  to  reply, 
and  was  greatly  relieved  to  be  touched  on  the  elbow 
by  a  child  with  a  picayune  in  one  hand  and  a  tumbler 
in  the  other.  He  escaped  behind  the  counter  and 
gladly  remained  there. 

"  Citizen  Fusilier,"  asked  one  of  the  gossips, 
"  what  has  the  new  government  to  do  with  the 
health   of  the   Muses  ?  " 

"  It  introduces  the  English  tongue,"  said  the  old 
man,  scowling. 

"  Oh,  well,"  replied  the  questioner,  "  the  Creoles 
will  soon  learn  the  language." 

"English  is  not  a  language,  sir;  it  is  a  jargon! 
And  when  this  young  simpleton,  Claiborne,  attempts 
to  cram  it  down  the  public  windpipe  in  the  courts, 
as  I  understand  he  intends,  he  will  fail  !  Hah  !  sir, 
I  know  men  in  this  city  who  would  rather  eat  a  dog 
than  speak  English  !  /  speak  it,  but  I  also  speak 
Choctaw." 

"The  new  land  titles  will  be  in  English." 

"  They  will   spurn   his  rotten  titles.     And  if  he 

attempts  to  invalidate   their  old   ones,  why,  let  him 

do  it!     Napoleon  Buonaparte"  (Italian  pronounci- 

ation)    "  will    make   good   every   arpent  within   the 

5 


66  The  Grandissimes 

next  two  years.  Think  so  ?  I  know  it !  How  ? 
H-I  perceive  it  !  H-I  hope  the  yellow  fever  may 
spare  you  to  witness  it." 

A  sullen  grunt  from  the  circle  showed  the  "citi- 
zen" that  he  had  presumed  too  much  upon  the  license 
commonly  accorded  his  advanced  age,  and  by  way 
of  a  diversion  he  looked  around  for  Frowenfeld  to 
pour  new  flatteries  upon.  But  Joseph,  behind  his 
counter,  unaware  of  either  the  offense  or  the  resent- 
ment, was  blushing  with  pleasure  before  a  visitor 
who  had  entered  by  the  side  door  farthest  from  the 
company. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Agricola,  "  h-my  dear  friends, 
you  must  not  expect  an  old  Creole  to  like  anything 
in  comparison  with  la  belle  langue." 

"  Which  language  do  you  call  la  belle  ?  "  asked 
Doctor  Keene,  with  pretended  simplicity. 

The  old  man  bent  upon  him  a  look  of  unspeak- 
able contempt,  which  nobody  noticed.  The  gossips 
were  one  by  one  stealing  a  glance  toward  that  which 
ever  was,  is  and  must  be  an  irresistible  lodestone  to 
the  eyes  of  all  the  sons  of  Adam,  to  wit,  a  chaste 
and  graceful  complement  of — skirts.  Then  in  a 
lower  tone  they  resumed  their  desultory  conversa- 
tion. 

It  was  the  seeker  after  basil  who  stood  before  the 
counter,  holding  in  her  hand,  with  her  purse,  the 
heavy  veil  whose  folds  had  before  concealed  her 
features. 


"  Oo  Dad  is,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  "        67 
CHAPTER  X 

"  OO     DAD    IS,    'SIEUR    FROWENFEL  '  ?  " 

Whether  the  removal  of  the  veil  was  because  of 
the  milder  light  of  the  evening,  or  the  result  of  ac- 
cident, or  of  haste,  or  both,  or  whether,  by  reason 
of  some  exciting  or  absorbing  course  of  thought,  the 
wearer  had  withdrawn  it  unconsciously,  was  a  matter 
that  occupied  the  apothecary  as  little  as  did  Agricola's 
continued  harangue.  As  he  looked  upon  the  fair 
face  through  the  light  gauze  which  still  overhung 
but  not  obscured  it,  he  readily  perceived,  despite 
the  sprightly  smile,  something  like  distress,  and  as 
she  spoke  this  became  still  more  evident  in  her 
hurried   undertone. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  I  want  you  to  sell  me  doze 
basilic." 

As  she  slipped  the  rings  of  her  purse  apart  her 
fingers  trembled. 

"  It  is  waiting  for  you,"  said  Frowenfeld ;  but 
the  lady  did  not  hear  him ;  she  was  giving  her 
attention  to  the  loud  voice  of  Agricola  saying  in 
the  course  of  discussion  : 

"  The  Louisiana  Creole  is  the  noblest  variety  of 
enlightened  man  !  " 

"  Oo  dad  is,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  "  she  asked,  softly, 
but  with  an  excited  eve. 

"  That  is  Mr.  Agricola  Fusilier,"  answered  Joseph 
in  the  same  tone,  his  heart  leaping  inexplicably  as 


68  The  Grandissimes 

he  met  her  glance.  With  an  angry  flush  she  looked 
quickly  around,  scrutinized  the  old  man  in  an  instan- 
taneous, thorough  way,  and  then  glanced  back  at 
the  apothecary  again,  as  if  asking  him  to  fulfil  her 
request  the  quicker. 

He  hesitated,  in  doubt  as  to  her  meaning. 

"  Wrap  it  yonder,"  she  almost  whispered. 

He  went,  and  in  a  moment  returned,  with  the 
basil   only  partially  hid  in  a  paper  covering. 

But  the  lady,  muffled  again  in  her  manifold  veil, 
had  once  more  lost  her  eagerness  for  it ;  at  least, 
instead  of  taking  it,  she  moved  aside,  offering  room 
for  a  masculine  figure  just  entering.  She  did  not 
look  to  see  who  it  might  be  —  plenty  of  time  to  do 
that  by  accident,  by  and  by.  There  she  made  a 
mistake ;  for  the  new-comer,  with  a  silent  bow  of 
thanks,  declined  the  place  made  for  him,  moved 
across  the  shop,  and  occupied  his  eyes  with  the  con- 
tents of  the  glass  case,  his  back  being  turned  to  the 
lady  and  Frowenfeld.  The  apothecary  recognized 
the  Creole  whom  he  had  met  under  the  live-oak. 

The  lady  put  forth  her  hand  suddenly  to  receive 
the  package.  As  she  took  it  and  turned  to  depart, 
another  small  hand  was  laid  upon  it  and  it  was 
returned  to  the  counter.  Something  was  said  in 
a  low-pitched  undertone,  and  the  two  sisters  —  if 
Frowenfeld's  guess  was  right  —  confronted  each 
other.  For  a  single  instant  only  they  stood  so  ;  an 
earnest  and  hurried  murmur  of  French  words  passed 
between  them,  and  they  turned  together,  bowed  with 
great  suavity,  and  were  gone. 


"  Oo  Dad  is,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  "        69 

"  The  Cession  is  a  mere  temporary  political 
manoeuvre  !  "  growled  M.  Fusilier. 

Frowenfeld's  merchant  friend  came  from  his  place 
of  waiting,  and  spoke  twice  before  he  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  bewildered  apothecary. 

"Good-day,  Mr.  Frowenfeld  ;  I  have  been  told 
that " 

Joseph  gazed  after  the  two  ladies  crossing  the 
street,  and  felt  uncomfortable  that  the  group  of 
gossips  did  the  same.  So  did  the  black  attendant 
who  glanced  furtively  back. 

"  Good-day,  Mr.  Frowenfeld  ;   I " 

"  Oh !  how  do  you  do,  sir  ? "  exclaimed  the 
apothecary,  with  great  pleasantness  of  face.  It 
seemed  the  most  natural  thing  that  they  should 
resume  their  late  conversation  just  where  they  had 
left  off,  and  that  would  certainly  be  pleasant.  But 
the  man  of  more  experience  showed  an  unrespon- 
sive expression,  that  was  as  if  he  remembered  no 
conversation  of  any  note. 

"  I  have  been  told  that  you  might  be  able  to  re- 
place the  glass  in  this  thing  out  of  your  private  stock." 

He  presented  a  small,  leather-covered  case,  evi- 
dently containing  some  optical  instrument.  "  It 
will  give  me  a  pretext  for  going,"  he  had  said  to 
himself,  as  he  put  it  into  his  pocket  in  his  count- 
ing-room. He  was  not  going  to  let  the  apothecary 
know  he  had  taken  such  a  fancy  to  him. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Frowenfeld,  as  he 
touched  the  spring  of  the  case ;  "  I  will  see  what  I 
have." 


jo  The  Grandissimes 

He  passed  into  the  back  room,  more  than  willing 
to  get  out  of  sight  till  he  might  better  collect 
himself. 

"  I  do  not  keep  these  things  for  sale,"  said  he  as 
he  went. 

"  Sir  ?  "  asked  the  Creole,  as  if  he  had  not  under- 
stood, and  followed  through  the  open  door. 

"  Is  this  what  that  lady  was  getting  ?  "  he  asked, 
touching  the  remnant  of  the  basil  in  the  box. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  apothecary,  with  his  face  in 
the  drawer  of  a  table. 

"They  had  no  carriage  with  them."  The  Creole 
spoke  with  his  back  turned,  at  the  same  time  run- 
ning his  eyes  along  a  shelf  of  books.  Frowenfeld 
made  only  the  sound  of  rejecting  bits  of  crystal  and 
taking  up  others.  "  I  do  not  know  who  they  are," 
ventured  the  merchant. 

Joseph  still  gave  no  answer,  but  a  moment  after 
approached,  with  the  instrument  in  his  extended 
hand. 

"  You  had  it  ?  I  am  glad,"  said  the  owner,  re- 
ceiving it,  but  keeping  one  hand  still  on  the  books. 

Frowenfeld  put  up  his  materials. 

"  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  are  these  your  books  ?  I 
mean  do  you  use  these  books?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  Creole  stepped  back  to  the  door. 

"  Agricola !  " 

"  Quoi .'" 

"  Vien  ici." 

Citizen    Fusilier    entered,    followed    by    a    small 


"  Oo  Dad  is,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ? "        71 

volley  of  retorts  from  those  with  whom  he  had 
been  disputing,  and  who  rose  as  he  did.  The 
stranger  said  something  very  sprightly  in  French, 
running  the  back  of  one  finger  down  the  rank  of 
books,  and  a  lively  dialogue  followed. 

"You  must  be  a  great  scholar,"  said  the  un- 
known by  and  by,  addressing  the  apothecary. 

"  He  is  a  professor  of  chimistry,"  said  the  old 
man. 

"  I  am  nothing,  as  yet,  but  a  student,"  said 
Joseph,  as  the  three  returned  into  the  shop  ;  "  cer- 
tainly not  a  scholar,  and  still  less  a  professor."  He 
spoke  with  a  new  quietness  of  manner  that  made 
the  younger  Creole  turn  upon  him  a  pleasant  look. 

"  H-my  young  friend,"  said  the  patriarch,  turn- 
ing toward  Joseph  with  a  tremendous  frown,  "  when 
I,  Agricola  Fusilier,  pronounce  you  a  professor, 
you  are  a  professor.  Louisiana  will  not  look  to 
you  for  your  credentials ;  she  will  look  to  me  !  " 

He  stumbled  upon  some  slight  impediment  under 
foot.  There  were  times  when  it  took  but  little  to 
make  Agricola  stumble. 

Looking  to  see  what  it  was,  Joseph  picked  up 
a  silken  purse.  There  was  a  name  embroidered 
on  it. 


72  The  Grandissimes 

CHAPTER   XI 

SUDDEN     FLASHES    OF    LIGHT 

The  day  was  nearly  gone.  The  company  that 
had  been  chatting  at  the  front  door,  and  which  in 
warmer  weather  would  have  tarried  until  bed-time, 
had  wandered  off;  however,  by  stepping  toward  the 
light  the  young  merchant  could  decipher  the  letters 
on  the  purse.  Citizen  Fusilier  drew  out  a  pair  of 
spectacles,  looked  over  his  junior's  shoulder,  read 

aloud,  "  Aurore  De  G.  Nanca ,"  and  uttered  an 

imprecation. 

"  Do  not  speak  to  me  !  "  he  thundered  ;  "  do  not 
approach  me  !  she  did  it  maliciously  !  " 

"  Sir  !  "  began  Frowenfeld. 

But  the  old  man  uttered  another  tremendous 
malediction  and  hurried  into  the  street  and  away. 

"  Let  him  pass,"  said  the  other  Creole  calmly. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  ?  "  asked  Frowen- 
feld. 

"  He  is  getting  old."  The  Creole  extended  the 
purse  carelessly  to  the  apothecary.  "  Has  it  any- 
thing inside  ?" 

"  But  a  single  pistareen." 

"  That  is  why  she  wanted  the  basilic,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir." 

"  Do  you  not  know  what  she  was  going  to  do 
with  it  ?  " 

"  With  the  basil  ?      No  sir." 


Sudden  Flashes  of  Light  73 

"  May  be  she  was  going  to  make  a  little  tisane, 
eh  ?  "   said  the  Creole,  forcing  down  a  smile. 

But  a  portion  of  the  smile  would  come  when 
Frowenfeld  answered,  with  unnecessary  resentment : 

"  She  was  going  to  make  some  proper  use  of  it, 
which  need  not  concern  me." 

"  Without  doubt." 

The  Creole  quietly  walked  a  step  or  two  forward 
and  back  and  looked  idly  into  the  glass  case.  "  Is 
this  young  man  in  love  with  her  ?  "  he  asked  him- 
self.     He  turned  around. 

"Do  you  know  those  ladies,  Mr.  Frowenfeld ? 
Do  you  visit  them  at  home  ?  " 

He  drew  out  his  porte-monnaie. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  I  will  pay  you  for  the  repair  of  this  instrument ; 
have  you  change  for " 

"  I  will  see,"  said  the  apothecary. 

As  he  spoke  he  laid  the  purse  on  a  stool,  till 
he  should  light  his  shop,  and  then  went  to  his  till 
without  again  taking  it. 

The  Creole  sauntered  across  to  the  counter  and 
nipped  the  herb  which  still  lay  there. 

"  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  you  know  what  some  very 
excellent  people  do  with  this  ?  They  rub  it  on 
the  sill  of  the  door  to  make  the  money  come  into 
the  house." 

Joseph  stopped  aghast  with  the  drawer  half 
drawn. 

"  Not  persons  of  intelligence  and " 

"All  kinds.      It  is  only  some  of  the  foolishness 


74  The  Grandissimes 

which  they  take  from  the  slaves.  Many  of  your 
best  people  consult  the  voudou  horses." 

"  Horses  ?  " 

"  Priestesses,  you  might  call  them,"  explained 
the  Creole,  "  like  Momselle  Marcelline  or  'Zabeth 
Philosophe." 

"  Witches  !  "  whispered  Frowenfeld. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  the  other  with  a  shrug ;  "  that  is 
too  hard  a  name ;  say  fortune-tellers.  But  Mr. 
Frowenfeld,  I  wish  you  to  lend  me  your  good 
offices.  Just  supposing  the  possi&'/ity  that  that 
lady  may  be  in  need  of  money,  you  know,  and  will 
send  back  or  come  back  for  the  purse,  you  know, 
knowing  that  she  most  likely  lost  it  here,  I  ask  you 
the  favor  that  you  will  not  let  her  know  I  have 
filled  it  with  gold.  In  fact,  if  she  mentions  my 
name " 

"  To  confess  the  truth,  sir,  I  am  not  acquainted 
with  your  name." 

The  Creole  smiled  a  genuine  surprise. 

"  I  thought  you  knew  it."  He  laughed  a  little 
at  himself.  "  We  have  nevertheless  become  very 
good  friends  —  I  believe  ?  Well,  in  fact  then,  Mr. 
Frowenfeld,  you  might  say  you  do  not  know  who 
put  the  money  in."  He  extended  his  open  palm 
with  the  purse  hanging  across  it.  Joseph  was  about 
to  object  to  this  statement,  but  the  Creole,  putting 
on  an  expression  of  anxious  desire,  said :  "  I  mean, 
not  by  name.  It  is  somewhat  important  to  me, 
Mr.  Frowenfeld,  that  that  lady  should  not  know 
my  present  action.      If  you  want  to  do  those  two 


Sudden  Flashes  of  Light  75 

ladies  a  favor,  you  may  rest  assured  the  way  to  do 
it  is  to  say  you  do  not  know  who  put  this  gold." 
The  Creole  in  his  earnestness  slipped  in  his  idiom. 
"  You  will  excuse  me  if  I  do  not  tell  you  my  name  ; 
you  can  find  it  out  at  any  time  from  Agricola.  Ah  ! 
I  am  glad  she  did  not  see  me  !  You  must  not  tell 
anybody  about  this  little  event,  eh  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Joseph,  as  he  finally  accepted  the 
purse.  "  I  shall  say  nothing  to  any  one  else,  and 
only  what  I  cannot  avoid  saying  to  the  lady  and  her 
sister." 

"'Tis  not  her  sister"  responded  the  Creole,  "'tis 
her  daughter." 

The  italics  signify,  not  how  the  words  were  said, 
but  how  they  sounded  to  Joseph.  As  if  a  dark 
lantern  were  suddenly  turned  full  upon  it,  he  saw 
the  significance  of  Citizen  Fusilier's  transport.  The 
fair  strangers  were  the  widow  and  daughter  of  the 
man  whom  Agricola  had  killed  in  duel  —  the  ladies 
with  whom  Doctor  Keene  had  desired  to  make  him 
acquainted. 

"Well,  good  evening,  Mr.  Frowenfeld."  The 
Creole    extended    his    hand   (his    people    are    great 

hand-shakers).     "Ah "  and  then,  for  the  first 

time,  he  came  to  the  true  object  of  his  visit.  "  The 
conversation  we  had  some  weeks  ago,  Mr.  Frowen- 
feld, has  started  a  train  of  thought  in  my  mind  "  — 
he  began  to  smile  as  if  to  convey  the  idea  that 
Joseph  would  find  the  subject  a  trivial  one  — 
"which  has  almost  brought  me  to  the " 

A  light  footfall  accompanied  with  the  soft  sweep 


76  The  Grandissimes 

of  robes  cut  short  his  words.  There  had  been  two 
or  three  entrances  and  exits  during  the  time  the 
Creole  had  tarried,  but  he  had  not  allowed  them  to 
disturb  him.  Now,  however,  he  had  no  sooner 
turned  and  fixed  his  glance  upon  this  last  comer, 
than  without  so  much  as  the  invariable  Creole  leave- 
taking  of  "  Well,  good  evening,  sir,"  he  hurried 
out. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE    PHILOSOPHE 

The  apothecary  felt  an  inward  nervous  start  as 
there  advanced  into  the  light  of  his  hanging  lamp 
and  toward  the  spot  where  he  had  halted,  just  out- 
side the  counter,  a  woman  of  the  quadroon  caste,  of 
superb  stature  and  poise,  severely  handsome  features, 
clear,  tawny  skin  and  large,  passionate  black  eyes. 

"  Bon  soi',  Miche."  [Monsieur.]  A  rather  hard, 
yet  not  repellent  smile  showed  her  faultless  teeth. 

Frowenfeld  bowed. 

"  Mo  vien  c'erc'er  la  bourse  de  Madame." 

She  spoke  the  best  French  at  her  command,  but 
it  was  not  understood. 

The  apothecary  could  only  shake  his  head. 

"La  bourse"  she  repeated,  softly  smiling,  but 
with  a  scintillation  of  the  eyes  in  resentment  of  his 
scrutiny.      "  La  bourse,"  she  reiterated. 

"  Purse  ? " 

"  Qui,  Miche." 


The  Philosophe  77 

"  You  are  sent  for  it  ?  " 

"  Oui,  Miche." 

He  drew  it  from  his  breast  pocket  and  marked 
the  sudden  glisten  of  her  eyes,  reflecting  the  glisten 
of  the  gold  in  the  silken  mesh. 

"  Oui,  c  est  ca,"  said  she,  putting  her  hand  out 
eagerly. 

"  I  am  afraid  to  give  you  this  to-night,"  said 
Joseph. 

"  Oui,"  ventured  she,  dubiously,  the  lightning 
playing  deep  back  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  might  be  robbed,"  said  Frowenfeld.  "  It 
is  very  dangerous  for  you  to  be  out  alone.  It  will 
not  be  long,  now,  until  gun-fire."  (Eight  o'clock 
p.  m.  —  the  gun  to  warn  slaves  to  be  indoors, 
under  pain   of  arrest  and  imprisonment.) 

The  object  of  this  solicitude  shook  her  head  with 
a  smile  at  its  gratuitousness.  The  smile  showed 
determination  also. 

"  Mo  pas  compren',"  she  said. 

"Tell  the  lady  to  send  for  it  to-morrow." 

She  smiled  helplessly  and  somewhat  vexedly, 
shrugged  and  again  shook  her  head.  As  she  did  so 
she  heard  footsteps  and  voices  in  the  door  at  her  back. 

"  C est  ca,"  she  said  again  with  a  hurried  attempt 
at  extreme  amiability;  "  Dat  it;  oui;"  and  lifting 
her  hand  with  some  rapiditv  made  a  sudden  eager 
reach  for  the  purse,  but  failed. 

"  No  !  "  said  Frowenfeld,  indignantly. 

"  Hello  !  "  said  Charlie  Keene  amusedly,  as  he 
approached  from  the  door. 


j  8  The  Grandissimes 

The  woman  turned,  and  in  one  or  two  rapid  sen- 
tences in  the  Creole  dialect  offered  her  explanation. 

"  Give  her  the  purse,  Joe ;  I  will  answer  for  its 
being  all  right." 

Frowenfeld  handed  it  to  her.  She  started  to 
pass  through  the  door  in  the  rue  Royale  by  which 
Doctor  Keene  had  entered ;  but  on  seeing  on  its 
threshold  Agricola  frowning  upon  her,  she  turned 
quickly  with  evident  trepidation,  and  hurried  out 
into  the  darkness  of  the  other  street. 

Agricola  entered.  Doctor  Keene  looked  about 
the  shop. 

"  I  tell  you,  Agricole,  you  did  n't  have  it  with 
you ;  Frowenfeld,  you  have  n't  seen  a  big  knotted 
walking-stick  ? " 

Frowenfeld  was  sure  no  walking-stick  had  been 
left  there. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Frowenfeld,"  said  Doctor  Keene,  with 
a  little  laugh,  as  the  three  sat  down,  "  I  'd  a'most  as 
soon  trust  that  woman  as  if  she  was  white." 

The  apothecary  said  nothing. 

"  How  free,"  said  Agricola,  beginning  with  a 
meditative  gaze  at  the  sky  without,  and  ending 
with  a  philosopher's  smile  upon  his  two  com- 
panions, —  "  how  free  we  people  are  from  prejudice 
against  the  negro  !  " 

"  The  white  people,"  said  Frowenfeld,  half 
abstractedly,  half  inquiringly. 

"  H-my  young  friend,  when  we  say,  '  we  people,' 
we  always  mean  we  white  people.  The  non-men- 
tion of  color  always  implies  pure  white  ;  and  what- 


The  Philosophe  79 

ever  is  not  pure  white  is  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
pure  black.  When  I  say  the  '  whole  community,' 
I  mean  the  whole  white  portion ;  when  I  speak  of 
the  '  undivided  public  sentiment,'  I  mean  the  sen- 
timent of  the  white  population.  What  else  could 
I  mean  ?  Could  you  suppose,  sir,  the  expression 
which  you  may  have  heard  me  use  — '  my  down- 
trodden country'  —  includes  blacks  and  mulattoes  ? 
What  is  that  up  yonder  in  the  sky  ?  The  moon. 
The  new  moon,  or  the  old  moon,  or  the  moon  in 
her  third  quarter,  but  always  the  moon  !  Which 
part  of  it  ?  Why,  the  shining  part  —  the  white 
part,  always  and  only  !  Not  that  there  is  a  prej- 
udice against  the  negro.  By  no  means.  Wherevei 
he  can  be  of  any  service  in  a  strictly  menial  capacity 
we  kindly  and  generously  tolerate  his  presence." 

Was  the  immigrant  growing  wise,  or  weak,  that 
he  remained  silent  ? 

Agricola  rose  as  he  concluded  and  said  he  would 
go  home.  Doctor  Keene  gave  him  his  hand  lazily, 
without  rising. 

"  Frowenfeld,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  and  in  an 
undertone,  as  Agricola's  footsteps  died  away,  "  don't 
vou  know  who  that  woman  is  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  you." 

He  told  him. 

On  that  lonely  plantation  at  the  Cannes  Brulees, 
where  Aurore  Nancanou's  childhood  had  been 
passed  without  brothers  or  sisters,  there  had  been 


80  The  Grandissimes 

given  her,  according  to  the  well-known  custom  of 
plantation  life,  a  little  quadroon  slave-maid  as  her 
constant  and  only  playmate.  This  maid  began 
early  to  show  herself  in  many  ways  remarkable. 
While  yet  a  child  she  grew  tall,  lithe,  agile ;  her 
eyes  were  large  and  black,  and  rolled  and  sparkled 
if  she  but  turned  to  answer  to  her  name.  Her 
pale  yellow  forehead,  low  and  shapely,  with  the 
jet  hair  above  it,  the  heavily  pencilled  eyebrows  and 
long  lashes  below,  the  faint  red  tinge  that  blushed 
with  a  kind  of  cold  passion  through  the  clear 
yellow  skin  of  the  cheek,  the  fulness  of  the  red, 
voluptuous  lips  and  the  roundness  of  her  perfect 
neck,  gave  her,  even  at  fourteen,  a  barbaric  and 
magnetic  beauty,  that  startled  the  beholder  like  an 
unexpected  drawing  out  of  a  jewelled  sword.  Such 
a  type  could  have  sprung  only  from  high  Latin  an- 
cestry on  the  one  side  and  —  we  might  venture  — 
Jaloff  African  on  the  other.  To  these  charms  of 
person  she  added  mental  acuteness,  conversational 
adroitness,  concealed  cunning,  and  noiseless  but 
visible  strength  of  will ;  and  to  these,  that  rarest 
of  gifts  in  one  of  her  tincture,  the  purity  of  true 
womanhood. 

At  fourteen  a  necessity  which  had  been  parleyed 
with  for  two  years  or  more  became  imperative,  and 
Aurore's  maid  was  taken  from  her.  Explanation 
is  almost  superfluous.  Aurore  was  to  become  a 
lady  and  her  playmate  a  lady's  maid ;  but  not  her 
maid,  because  the  maid  had  become,  of  the  two, 
the  ruling  spirit.      It  was  a  question  of  grave  debate 


The  Philosophe  81 

in  the  mind  of  M.  De  Grapion  what  disposition  to 
make  of  her. 

About  this  time  the  Grandissimes  and  De 
Grapions,  through  certain  efforts  of  Honore's 
father  (since  dead)  were  making  some  feeble  pre- 
tences of  mutual  good  feeling,  and  one  of  those 
Kentuckian  dealers  in  corn  and  tobacco  whose 
flatboat  fleets  were  always  drifting  down  the 
Mississippi,  becoming  one  day  M.  De  Grapion's 
transient  guest,  accidentally  mentioned  a  wish  of 
Agricola  Fusilier.  Agricola,  it  appeared,  had  com- 
missioned him  to  buy  the  most  beautiful  lady's 
maid  that  in  his  extended  journeyings  he  might  be 
able  to  find ;  he  wanted  to  make  her  a  gift  to  his 
niece,  Honore's  sister.  The  Kentuckian  saw  the 
demand  met  in  Aurore's  playmate.  M.  De  Gra- 
pion would  not  sell  her.  (Trade  with  a  Grandis- 
sime?  Let  them  suspect  he  needed  money?) 
No ;  but  he  would  ask  Agricola  to  accept  the 
services  of  the  waiting-maid  for,  say,  ten  years. 
The  Kentuckian  accepted  the  proposition  on  the 
spot  and  it  was  by  and  by  carried  out.  She  was 
never  recalled  to  the  Cannes  Brulees,  but  in  subse- 
quent years  received  her  freedom  from  her  master, 
and  in  New  Orleans  becam  ;  Palmyre  la  Philosophe, 
as  they  say  in  the  corrupt  French  of  the  old  Creoles, 
or  Palmyre  Philosophe,  noted  for  her  taste  and 
skill  as  a  hair-dresser,  for  the  efficiency  of  her  spells 
and  the  sagacity  of  her  divinations,  but  most  of  all 
for  the  chaste  austerity  with  which  she  practised  the 
less  baleful  rites  of  the  voudous. 

6 


82  The  Grandissimes 

"  That 's  the  woman,"  said  Doctor  Keene,  rising 
to  go,  as  he  concluded  the  narrative,  —  "  that 's  she, 
Palmyre  Philosophe.  Now  you  get  a  view  of  the 
vastness  of  Agricole's  generosity ;  he  tolerates  her 
even  though  she  does  not  present  herself  in  the 
'  strictly  menial  capacity.'  Reason  why  —  he 's 
afraid  of  her." 

Time  passed,  if  that  may  be  called  time  which 
we  have  to  measure  with  a  clock.  The  apothecary 
of  the  rue  Royale  found  better  ways  of  measure- 
ment. As  quietly  as  a  spider  he  was  spinning  in- 
formation into  knowledge  and  knowledge  into  what 
is  supposed  to  be  wisdom  ;  whether  it  was  or  not 
we  shall  see.  His  unidentified  merchant  friend 
who  had  adjured  him  to  become  acclimated  as 
"  they  all  did  "  had  also  exhorted  him  to  study  the 
human  mass  of  which  he  had  become  a  unit;  but 
whether  that  study,  if  pursued,  was  sweetening  and 
ripening,  or  whether  it  was  corrupting  him,  that 
friend  did  not  come  to  see ;  it  was  the  busy  time  of 
year.  Certainly  so  young  a  solitary,  coming  among 
a  people  whose  conventionalities  were  so  at  variance 
with  his  own  door-yard  ethics,  was  in  sad  danger 
of  being  unduly  —  as  we  might  say  —  Timonized. 
His  acquaintances  continued  to  be  few  in  number. 

During  this  fermenting  period  he  chronicled 
much  wet  and  some  cold  weather.  This  may  in 
part  account  for  the  uneventfulness  of  its  passage  ; 
events  do  not  happen  rapidly  among  the  Creoles 
in  bad  weather.     However,  trade  was  good. 


A  Call  from  the  Rent-Spectre  83 

But  the  weather  cleared ;  and  when  it  was  get- 
ting well  on  into  the  Creole  spring  and  approach- 
ing the  spring  of  the  almanacs,  something  did  occur 
that  extended  Frowenfeld's  acquaintance  without 
Doctor  Keene's  assistance. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

A    CALL    FROM    THE    RENT-SPECTRE 

It  is  nearly  noon  of  a  balmy  morning  late  in 
February.  Aurore  Nancanou  and  her  daughter 
have  only  this  moment  ceased  sewing,  in  the  small 
front  room  of  No.  19  rue  Bienville.  Number  19 
is  the  right-hand  half  of  a  single-story,  low-roofed 
tenement,  washed  with  yellow  ochre,  which  it  shares 
generously  with  whoever  leans  against  it.  It  sits 
as  fast  on  the  ground  as  a  toad.  There  is  a  kitchen 
belonging  to  it  somewhere  among  the  weeds  in  the 
back  yard,  and  besides  this  room  where  the  ladies 
are,  there  is,  directly  behind  it,  a  sleeping  apart- 
ment. Somewhere  back  of  this  there  is  a  little 
nook  where  in  pleasant  weather  they  eat.  Their 
cook  and  housemaid  is  the  plain  person  who  at- 
tends them  on  the  street.  Her  bedchamber  is  the 
kitchen  and  her  bed  the  floor.  The  house's  only 
other  protector  is  a  hound,  the  aim  of  whose  life 
is  to  get  thrust  out  of  the  ladies'  apartments  every 
fifteen  minutes. 

Yet  if  you   hastily  picture  to  yourself  a  forlorn- 


84  The  Grandissimes 

looking  establishment,  you  will  be  moving  straight 
away  from  the  fact.  Neatness,  order,  excellence, 
are  prevalent  qualities  in  all  the  details  of  the  main 
house's  inward  garniture.  The  furniture  is  old- 
fashioned,  rich,  French,  imported.  The  carpets,  if 
not  new,  are  not  cheap,  either.  Bits  of  crystal  and 
silver,  visible  here  and  there,  are  as  bright  as  they 
are  antiquated ;  and  one  or  two  portraits,  and  the 
picture  of  Our  Lady  of  Many  Sorrows,  are  pass- 
ably good  productions.  The  brass  work,  of  which 
there  is  much,  is  brilliantly  burnished,  and  the 
front  room  is  bright  and   cheery. 

At  the  street  door  of  this  room  somebody  has 
just  knocked.  Aurore  has  risen  from  her  seat. 
The  other  still  sits  on  a  low  chair  with  her  hands 
and  sewing  dropped  into  her  lap,  looking  up  stead- 
fastly into  her  mother's  face  with  a  mingled  expres- 
sion of  fondness  and  dismayed  expectation.  Aurore 
hesitates  beside  her  chair,  desirous  of  resuming  her 
seat,  even  lifts  her  sewing  from  it ;  but  tarries  a 
moment,  her  alert  suspense  showing  in  her  eyes. 
Her  daughter  still  looks  up  into  them.  It  is  not 
strange  that  the  dwellers  round  about  dispute  as  to 
which  is  the  fairer,  nor  that  in  the  six  months  dur- 
ing which  the  two  have  occupied  Number  19  the 
neighbors  have  reached  no  conclusion  on  this  subject. 
If  some  young  enthusiast  compares  the  daughter 
—  in  her  eighteenth  year  —  to  a  bursting  blush 
rosebud  full  of  promise,  some  older  one  immedi- 
ately retorts  that  the  other  —  in  her  thirty-fifth  — 
is  the  red,  red,  full-blown,  faultless  joy  of  the  gar- 


A  Call  from  the  Rent-Spectre  85 

den.  If  one  says  the  maiden  has  the  dew  of  youth, 
—  "But!"  cry  two  or  three  mothers  in  a  breath, 
"  that  other  one,  child,  will  never  grow  old.  With 
her  it  will  always  be  morning.  That  woman  is 
going  to  last  forever ;  ha-a-a-a  !  —  even  longer  !  " 

There  was  one  direction  in  which  the  widow  evi- 
dently had  the  advantage ;  you  could  see  from  the 
street  or  the  opposite  windows  that  she  was  a  wise 
householder.  On  the  day  they  moved  into  Num- 
ber 19  she  had  been  seen  to  enter  in  advance  of  all 
her  other  movables,  carrying  into  the  emptv  house 
a  new  broom,  a  looking-glass,  and  a  silver  coin. 
Every  morning  since,  a  little  watching  would  have 
discovered  her  at  the  hour  of  sunrise  sprinkling 
water  from  her  side  casement,  and  her  opposite 
neighbors  often  had  occasion  to  notice  that,  sitting 
at  her  sewing  by  the  front  window,  she  never 
pricked  her  finger  but  she  quickly  ran  it  up  be- 
hind her  ear,  and  then  went  on  with  her  work. 
Would  anybody  but  Joseph  Frowenfeld  ever  have 
lived  in  and  moved  away  from  the  two-story  brick 
next  them  on  the  right  and  not  have  known  of  the 
existence  of  such  a  marvel  ? 

"  Ha  !  "  they  said,  "  she  knows  how  to  keep  off 
bad  luck,  that  Madame  yonder.  And  the  younger 
one  seems  not  to  like  it.  Girls  think  themselves  so 
smart  these  days." 

Ah,  there  was  the  knock  again,  right  there  on 
the  street-door,  as  loud  as  if  it  had  been  given  with 
a  joint  of  sugar-cane  ! 

The   daughter's   hand,  which   had  just   resumed 


86  The  Grandissimes 

the  needle,  stood  still  in  mid-course  with  the  white 
thread  half-drawn.  Aurore  tiptoed  slowly  over  the 
carpeted  floor.  There  came  a  shuffling  sound,  and 
the  corner  of  a  folded  white  paper  commenced 
appearing  and  disappearing  under  the  door.  She 
mounted  a  chair  and  peeped  through  that  odd  little 
jalousie  which  formerly  was  in  almost  all  New 
Orleans  street-doors  ;  but  the  missive  had  mean- 
time found  its  way  across  the  sill,  and  she  saw  only 
the  unpicturesque  back  of  a  departing  errand-boy. 
But  that  was  well.  She  had  a  pride,  to  maintain 
which  —  and  a  poverty,  to  conceal  which  —  she 
felt  to  be  necessary  to  her  self-respect ;  and  this 
made  her  of  necessity  a  trifle  unsocial  in  her  own 
castle.  Do  you  suppose  she  was  going  to  put  on 
the  face  of  having  been  born  or  married  to  this 
degraded  condition  of  things  ? 

Who  knows  ?  —  the  knock  might  have  been  from 
'Sieur  Frowenfel'  —  ha,  ha  !  He  might  be  just  silly 
enough  to  call  so  early ;  or  it  might  have  been  from 
that  polisson  of  a  Grandissime,  —  which  one  did  n't 
matter,  they  were  all  detestable,  —  coming  to  collect 
the  rent.  That  was  her  original  fear  ;  or,  worse 
still,  it  might  have  been,  had  it  been  softer,  the 
knock  of  some  possible  lady  visitor.  She  had  no 
intention  of  admitting  any  feminine  eyes  to  detect 
this  carefully  covered  up  indigence.  Besides,  it  was 
Monday.  .  There  is  no  sense  in  trifling  with  bad 
luck.  The  reception  of  Monday  callers  is  a  source 
of  misfortune  never  known  to  fail,  save  in  rare  cases 
when  good  luck  has  already  been  secured  by  smear- 


A  Call  from  the  Rent-Spectre  87 

ing  the  front  walk  or  the  banquette  with  Venetian 
red. 

Before  the  daughter  could  dart  up  and  disengage 
herself  from  her  work  her  mother  had  pounced 
upon  the  paper.  She  was  standing  and  reading, 
her  rich  black  lashes  curtaining  their  downcast  eyes, 
her  infant  waist  and  round,  close-fitted,  childish 
arms  harmonizing  prettily  with  her  mock  frown  of 
infantile  perplexity,  and  her  long,  limp  robe  height- 
ening the  grace  of  her  posture,  when  the  younger 
started  from  her  seat  with  the  air  of  determining 
not  to  be  left  at  a  disadvantage. 

But  what  is  that  on  the  dark  eyelash  ?  With  a 
sudden  additional  energy  the  daughter  dashes  the 
sewing  and  chair  to  right  and  left,  bounds  up,  and 
in  a  moment  has  Aurore  weeping  in  her  embrace 
and  has  snatched  the  note  from  her  hand. 

"Ah!  maman!     Ah!  ma  chere  mere  !  " 

The  mother  forced  a  laugh.  She  was  not  to  be 
mothered  by  her  daughter ;  so  she  made  a  dash  at 
Clotilde's  uplifted  hand  to  recover  the  note,  which 
was  unavailing.  Immediately  there  arose  in  colo- 
nial French  the  loveliest  of  contentions,  the  issue 
of  which  was  that  the  pair  sat  down  side  by  side, 
like  two  sisters  over  one  love-letter,  and  undertook 
to  decipher  the  paper.      It  read  as  follows : 

"New  Orleans,  20  Feb' re,  1804. 

"  Madame  Nancanou  :    I   muss  oblige  to  ass  you  for 

rent  of  that  house  whare  you  living,   it  is  at   number   19 

Bienville  street  whare  I  do  not  received  thos  rent  from  you 

not  since  tree  mons  and  I  demand  you  this  is  mabe  thirteen 


88  The  Grandissimes 

time.  And  I  give  to  you  notice  of  19  das  writen  in  Ang- 
lish  as  the  new  law  requi.  That  witch  the  law  make 
necessare  only  for  15  das,  and  when  you  not  pay  me  those 
rent  in  19  das  till  the  tense  of  Marh  I  will  rekes  you  to 
move  out.  That  witch  make  me  to  be  verry  sorry.  I 
have  the  honor  to  remain,  Madam, 

"  Your  humble  servant, 

"H.  Grandissime. 

"per  Z.  F." 

There  was  a  short  French  postscript  on  the 
opposite  page  signed  only  by  M.  Zenon  Francois, 
explaining  that  he,  who  had  allowed  them  in  the 
past  to  address  him  as  their  landlord  and  by  his 
name,  was  but  the  landlord's  agent;  that  the  land- 
lord was  a  far  better-dressed  man  than  he  could 
afford  to  be  ;  that  the  writing  opposite  was  a  notice 
for  them  to  quit  the  premises  they  had  rented  (not 
leased),  or  pay  up ;  that  it  gave  the  writer  great 
pain  to  send  it,  although  it  was  but  the  necessary 
legal  form  and  he  only  an  irresponsible  drawer  of 
an  inadequate  salary,  with  thirteen  children  to  sup- 
port ;  and  that  he  implored  them  to  tear  off  and 
burn  up  this  postscript  immediately  they  had 
read    it. 

"  Ah,  the  miserable  !  "  was  all  the  comment  made 
upon  it  as  the  two  ladies  addressed  their  energies 
to  the  previous  English.  They  had  never  sus- 
pected him  of  being  M.  Grandissime. 

Their  eyes  dragged  slowly  and  ineffectually  along 
the  lines  to  the  signature. 

"H.  Grandissime!      Loog   ad    'im  !  "    cried  the 


A  Call  from  the  Rent-Spectre  89 

widow,  with  a  sudden  short  laugh,  that  brought  the 
tears  after  it  like  a  wind-gust  in  a  rose-tree.  She 
held  the  letter  out  before  them  as  if  she  was  lifting 
something  alive  by  the  back  of  the  neck,  and  to 
intensify  her  scorn  spoke  in  the  hated  tongue  pre- 
scribed by  the  new  courts.  "  Loog  ad  'im !  dad 
ridge  gen'leman  00  give  so  mudge  money  to  de 
'ozpill !  " 

"  Bud,  maman,"  said  the  daughter,  laying  her 
hand  appeasingly  upon  her  mother's  knee,  "  ee  do 
nod  know  'ow  we   is   poor." 

"Ah!"  retorted  Aurore,  "par  example!  Non? 
Ee  thingue  we  is  ridge,  eh  ?  Ligue  his  oncle,  eh  ? 
Ee  thing  so,  too,  eh  ?  "  She  cast  upon  her  daugh- 
ter the  look  of  burning  scorn  intended  for  Agricola 
Fusilier.  "  You  wan'  to  tague  the  pard  of  dose 
Grandissime'  ?  " 

The  daughter  returned  a  look  of  agony. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  bud  a  man  wad  godd  some 
'ouses  to  rend,  muz  ee  nod  boun'  to  ged  'is  rend  ?  " 

"  Boun'  to  ged  —  ah  !  yez  ee  muz  do  'is  possible 
to  ged  'is  rend.  Oh  !  certain/Vf.  Ee  is  ridge,  bud 
ee  need  a  lill  money,  bad,  bad.  Fo'  w'at?"  The 
excited  speaker  rose  to  her  feet  under  a  sudden 
inspiration.  "  Tenez,  Mademoiselle!"  She  began 
to  make  great  show  of  unfastening  her  dress. 

"  Mais,  comment  ?  "  demanded  the  suffering 
daughter. 

"  Yez  ! "  continued  Aurore,  keeping  up  the 
demonstration,  "  you  wand  'im  to  'ave  'is  rend  so 
bad  !     An'   I  godd  honely  my  cloze ;    so  you  juz 


90  The  Grandissimes 

tague  diz  to  you'  fine  gen'lemen,  'Sieur  Honore 
Grandissime." 

"  Ah-h-h-h  !  "  cried  the  martyr. 

"  An'  you  is  righd,"  persisted  the  tormentor,  still 
unfastening;  but  the  daughter's  tears  gushed  forth, 
and  the  repentant  tease  threw  herself  upon  her 
knees,  drew  her  child's  head  into  her  bosom  and 
wept  afresh. 

Half  an  hour  was  passed  in  council;  at  the  end 
of  which  they  stood  beneath  their  lofty  mantel- 
shelf, each  with  a  foot  on  a  brazen  fire-dog,  and  no 
conclusion  reached. 

"Ah,  my  child!"  —  they  had  come  to  them- 
selves now  and  were  speaking  in  their  peculiar 
French  — "  if  we  had  here  in  these  hands  but  the 
tenth  part  of  what  your  papa  often  played  away  in 
one  night  without  once  getting  angry !  But  we 
have  not.  Ah  !  but  your  father  was  a  fine  fellow  ; 
if  he  could  have  lived  for  you  to  know  him  !  So 
accomplished !  Ha,  ha,  ha !  I  can  never  avoid 
laughing,  when  I  remember  him  teaching  me  to 
speak  English  ;   I  used  to  enrage  him  so  !  " 

The  daughter  brought  the  conversation  back  to 
the  subject  of  discussion.  There  were  nineteen 
days  yet  allowed  them.  God  knows  —  by  the  ex- 
piration of  that  time  they  might  be  able  to  pay. 
With  the  two  music  scholars  whom  she  then  had 
and  three  more  whom  she  had  some  hope  to  get, 
she  made  bold  to  say  they  could  pay  the  rent. 

"  Ah,  Clotilde,  my  child,"  exclaimed  Aurore, 
with   sudden   brightness,  "  you  don't  need  a.  mask 


A  Call  from  the  Rent-Spectre  91 

and  costume  to  resemble  your  great-grandmother, 
the  casket-girl !  "  Aurore  felt  sure,  on  her  part, 
that  with  the  one  embroidery  scholar  then  under 
her  tutelage,  and  the  three  others  who  had  declined 
to  take  lessons,  they  could  easily  pay  the  rent  — 
and  how  kind  it  was  of  Monsieur,  the  aged  father 
of  that  one  embroidery  scholar,  to  procure  those  invi- 
tations to  the  ball  !  The  dear  old  man  !  He  said 
he  must  see  one  more  ball  before  he  should  die. 

Aurore  looked  so  pretty  in  the  reverie  into  which 
she  fell  that  her  daughter  was  content  to  admire  her 
silently. 

"  Clotilde,"  said  the  mother,  presently  looking 
up,  "  do  you  remember  the  evening  you  treated  me 
so  ill  ? " 

The  daughter  smiled  at  the  preposterous  charge. 

"  I  did  not  treat  you  ill." 

"  Yes,  don't  you  know  —  the  evening  you  made 
me  lose  my  purse  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  I  know  !  "  The  daughter  took  her 
foot  from  the  andiron  ;  her  eyes  lighted  up  aggres- 
sively. "  For  losing  your  purse  blame  yourself. 
For  the  way  you  found  it  again — which  was  far 
worse  —  thank  Paimyre.  If  you  had  not  asked  her 
to  find  it  and  shared  the  gold  with  her  we  could 
have  returned  with  it  to  'Sieur  Frowenfel' ;  but 
now  we  are  ashamed  to  let  him  see  us.  I  do  not 
doubt  he  filled  the  purse." 

"  He  ?  He  never  knew  it  was  empty.  It  was 
Nobody  who  filled  it.  Paimyre  says  that  Papa 
Lebat " 


92  The  Grandissimes 

"  Ha  !  "  exclaimed  Clotilde  at  this  superstitious 
mention. 

The  mother  tossed  her  head  and  turned  her  back, 
swallowing  the  unendurable  bitterness  of  being  re- 
buked by  her  daughter.  But  the  cloud  hung  over 
but  a  moment. 

"  Clotilde,"  she  said,  a  minute  after,  turning  with 
a  look  of  sun-bright  resolve,  "  I  am  going  to  see 
him." 

"  To  see  whom  ?  "  asked  the  other,  looking  back 
from  the  window,  whither  she  had  gone  to  recover 
from  a  reactionary  trembling. 

"  To  whom,  my  child  ?      Why " 

"  You  do  not  expect  mercy  from  Honore 
Grandissime  ?     You  would  not  ask  it  ?  " 

"  No.  There  is  no  mercy  in  the  Grandissime 
blood  ;  but  cannot  I  demand  justice  ?  Ha  !  it  is 
justice  that  I   shall  demand  !  " 

"  And  you  will  really  go  and  see  him  ?  " 

"  You  will  see,  Mademoiselle,"  replied  Aurore, 
dropping  a  broom  with  which  she  had  begun  to 
sweep  up  some  spilled  buttons. 

"  And  I  with  you  ?  " 

,c  No  !  To  a  counting-room  ?  To  the  presence 
of  the  chief  of  that  detestable  race  ?     No  !  " 

"  But  you  don't  know  where  his  office  is." 

"  Anybody  can  tell  me." 

Preparation  began  at  once.      By  and  by 

"Clotilde." 

Clotilde  was  stooping  behind  her  mother,  with  a 
ribbon  between  her  lips,  arranging  a  flounce. 


A  Call  from  the  Rent-Spectre  93 

"  M-m-m." 

"  You  must  not  watch  me  go  out  of  sight  ;  do 
you  hear  ?  *  *  But  it  is  dangerous.  I  knew 
of  a  gentleman  who  watched  his  wife  go  out  of  his 
sight  and  she  never  came  back  !  " 

"  Hold  still  !  "  said  Clotilde. 

"  But  when  my  hand  itches,"  retorted  Aurore  in 
a  high  key,  "  have  n't  I  got  to  put  it  instantly  into 
my  pocket  if  I  want  the  money  to  come  there  ? 
Well,  then  !  " 

The  daughter  proposed  to  go  to  the  kitchen  and 
tell  Alphonsina  to  put  on  her  shoes. 

"  My  child,"  cried  Aurore,  "  you  are  crazy  !  Do 
you  want  Alphonsina  to  be  seized  for  the  rent  ?  " 

"  But  you  cannot  go  alone  —  and  on  foot  !  " 

"  I  must  go  alone  ;  and  —  can  you  lend  me  your 
carriage  ?  Ah,  you  have  none  ?  Certainly  I  must 
go  alone  and  on  foot  if  I  am  to  say  I  cannot  pay 
the  rent.  It  is  no  indiscretion  of  mine.  If  any- 
thing happens  to  me  it  is  M.  Grandissime  who  is 
responsible." 

Now  she  is  ready  for  the  adventurous  errand. 
She  darts  to  the  mirror.  The  high-water  marks 
are  gone  from  her  eyes.  She  wheels  half  around 
and  looks  over  her  shoulder.  The  flaring  bonnet 
and  loose  ribbons  gave  her  a  more  girlish  look  than 
ever. 

"  Now  which  is  the  older,  little  old  woman  ?  " 
she  chirrups,  and  smites  her  daughter's  cheek  softly 
with  her  palm. 

"  And  you  are  not  afraid  to  go  alone  ?  " 


94 


The  Grandissimes 


"  No  ;  but  remember  !  look  at  that  dog !  " 
The  brute  sinks  apologetically  to  the  floor. 
Clotilde  opens  the  street  door,  hands  Aurore  the 
note,  Aurore  lays  a  frantic  kiss  upon  her  lips,  press- 
ing it  on  tight  so  as  to  get  it  again  when  she  comes 
back,  and  —  while  Clotilde  calls  the  cook  to  gather 
up  the  buttons  and  take  away  the  broom,  and  while 
the  cook,  to  make  one  trip  of  it,  gathers  the  hound 
into  her  bosom  and  carries  broom  and  dog  out 
together  —  Aurore  sallies  forth,  leaving  Clotilde  to 
resume  her  sewing  and  await  the  coming  of  a 
guitar  scholar. 

"  It  will  keep  her  fully  an  hour,"  thought  the 
girl,  far  from  imagining  that  Aurore  had  set  about 
a  little  private  business  which  she  proposed  to  her- 
self to  accomplish  before  she  even  started  in  the 
direction  of  M.  Grandissime's  counting-rooms. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

BEFORE    SUNSET 

In  old  times,  most  of  the  sidewalks  of  New 
Orleans  not  in  the  heart  of  town  were  only  a  rough, 
rank  turf,  lined  on  the  side  next  the  ditch  with  the 
gunwales  of  broken-up  flatboats  —  ugly,  narrow, 
slippery  objects.  As  Aurora  —  it  sounds  so  much 
pleasanter  to  anglicize  her  name  —  as  Aurora  gained 
a  corner  where  two  of  these  gunwales  met,  she 
stopped  and  looked  back  to  make  sure  that  Clotilde 


Before  Sunset  95 

was  not  watching  her.  That  others  had  noticed 
her  here  and  there  she  did  not  care ;  that  was 
something  beauty  would  have  to  endure,  and  it  only 
made  her  smile  to  herself. 

"  Everybody  sees  I  am  from  the  country — walk- 
ing on  the  street  without  a  waiting-maid." 

A  boy  passed,  hushing  his  whistle,  and  gazing  at 
the  lone  lady  until  his  turning  neck  could  twist 
no  farther.  She  was  so  dewy  fresh  !  After  he  had 
got  across  the  street  he  turned  to  look  again. 
Where  could  she  have  disappeared  ? 

The  only  object  to  be  seen  on  the  corner  from 
which  she  had  vanished  was  a  small,  yellow-washed 
house  much  like  the  one  Aurora  occupied,  as  it  was 
like  hundreds  that  then  characterized  and  still  char- 
acterize the  town,  only  that  now  they  are  of  brick 
instead  of  adobe.  They  showed  in  those  davs,  even 
more  than  now,  the  wide  contrast  between  their 
homely  exteriors  and  the  often  elegant  apartments 
within.  However,  in  this  house  the  front  room 
was  merely  neat.  The  furniture  was  of  rude,  heavy 
pattern,  Creole-made, and  the  walls  were  unadorned; 
the  day  of  cheap  pictures  had  not  come.  The 
lofty  bedstead  which  filled  one  corner  was  spread 
and  hung  with  a  blue  stuff  showing  through  a  web 
of  white  needlework.  The  brazen  feet  of  the  chairs 
were  brightly  burnished,  as  were  the  brass  mount- 
ings of  the  bedstead  and  the  brass  globes  on  the 
cold  andirons.  Curtains  of  blue  and  white  hung 
at  the  single  window.  The  floor,  from  habitual 
scrubbing  with  the  common  weed  which   politeness 


96  The  Grandissimes 

has  to  call  Helenium  autumnale,  was  stained  a  bright, 
clean  yellow.  On  it  were,  here  and  there  in  places, 
white  mats  woven  of  bleached  palmetto-leaf.  Such 
were  the  room's  appointments ;  there  was  but  one 
thing  more,  a  singular  bit  of  fantastic  carving,  —  a 
small  table  of  dark  mahogany  supported  on  the 
upward-writhing  images  of  three  scaly  serpents. 

Aurora  sat  down  beside  this  table.  A  dwarf 
Congo  woman,  as  black  as  soot,  had  ushered  her  in, 
and,  having  barred  the  door,  had  disappeared,  and 
now  the  mistress  of  the  house  entered. 

February  though  it  was,  she  was  dressed  —  and 
looked  comfortable  —  in  white.  That  barbaric 
beauty  which  had  begun  to  bud  twenty  years  before 
was  now  in  perfect  bloom.  The  united  grace  and 
pride  of  her  movement  was  inspiring  but  —  what 
shall  we  say?  —  feline?  It  was  a  femininity  with- 
out humanity,  —  something  that  made  her,  with  all 
her  superbness,  a  creature  that  one  would  want  to 
find  chained.  It  was  the  woman  who  had  received 
the  gold  from  Frowenfeld  —  Palmyre  Philosophe. 

The  moment  her  eyes  fell  upon  Aurora  her 
whole  appearance  changed.  A  girlish  smile  lighted 
up  her  face,  and  as  Aurora  rose  up  reflecting  it  back, 
they  simultaneously  clapped  hands,  laughed  and 
advanced  joyously  toward  each  other,  talking  rapidly 
without  regard  to  each  other's  words. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Palmyre,  in  the  plantation 
French  of  their  childhood,  as  they  shook  hands. 

They  took  chairs  and  drew  up  face  to  face  as 
close  as  they  could  come,  then  sighed  and  smiled  a 


Before  Sunset  97 

moment,  and  then  looked  grave  and  were  silent. 
For  in  the  nature  of  things,  and  notwithstanding 
the  amusing  familiarity  common  between  Creole 
ladies  and  the  menial  class,  the  unprotected  little 
widow  should  have  had  a  very  serious  errand  to 
bring  her  to  the  voudou's  house. 

"  Palmyre,"  began  the  lady,  in  a  sad  tone. 

"  Momselle  Aurore." 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me."  The  former  mistress 
not  only  cast  her  hands  into  her  lap,  lifted  her 
eyes  supplicatingly  and  dropped  them  again,  but 
actually  locked  her  fingers  to  keep  them  from 
trembling. 

"  Momselle      Aurore "      began      Palmyre, 

solemnly. 

"  Now,  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say  —  but 
it  is  of  no  use  to  say  it ;  do  this  much  for  me  this 
one  time  and  then  I  will  let  voudou  alone  as  much 
as  you  wish  —  forever  !  " 

"  You  have  not  lost  your  purse  again  ?  " 

"Ah!  foolishness,  no." 

Both  laughed  a  little,  the  philosophe  feebly,  and 
Aurora  with  an  excited  tremor. 

"Well  ?  "  demanded  the  quadroon,  looking  grave 
again. 

Aurora  did  not  answer. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  work  a  spell  for  you  ? " 

The  widow  nodded,  with  her  eyes  cast  down. 

Both  sat  quite  still  for  some  time ;  then  the  phil- 
osophe   gently    drew    the    landlord's    letter    from 
between  Aurora's  hands. 
7 


98  The  Grandissimes 

"  What  is  this  ? "  She  could  not  read  in  any 
language. 

"  I  must  pay  my  rent  within  nineteen  days." 

"  Have  you  not  paid  it?  " 

The  delinquent  shook  her  head. 

"  Where  is  the  gold  that  came  into  your  purse  ? 
All  gone? " 

"  For  rice  and  potatoes,"  said  Aurora,  and  for 
the  first  time  she  uttered  a  genuine  laugh,  under 
that  condition  of  mind  which  Latins  usually  sub- 
stitute for  fortitude.  Palmyre  laughed  too,  very 
properly. 

Another  silence  followed.  The  lady  could  not 
return  the  quadroon's  searching  gaze. 

"  Momselle  Aurore,"  suddenly  said  Palmyre, 
"  you  want  me  to  work  a  spell  for  something  else." 

Aurora  started,  looked  up  for  an  instant  in  a 
frightened  way,  and  then  dropped  her  eyes  and  let 
her  head  droop,  murmuring  : 

"  No,  I  do  not." 

Palmyre  fixed  a  long  look  upon  her  former 
mistress.  She  saw  that  though  Aurora  might  be 
distressed  about  the  rent,  there  was  something  else, 
—  a  deeper  feeling,  —  impelling  her  upon  a  course 
the  very  thought  of  which  drove  the  color  from  her 
lips  and  made  her  tremble. 

"  You  are  wearing  red,"  said  the  philosophe. 

Aurora's  hand  went  nervously  to  the  red  ribbon 
about  her  neck. 

"  It  is  an  accident;  I  had  nothing  else  conven- 
ient." 


Before  Sunset  99 

"Miche  Agoussou  loves  red,"  persisted  Palmyre. 
(Monsieur  Agoussou  is  the  demon  upon  whom  the 
voudous  call  in  matters  of  love.) 

The  color  that  came  into  Aurora's  cheek  ought 
to  have  suited  Monsieur  precisely. 

"  It  is  an  accident,"  she  feebly  insisted. 

"  Well,"  presently  said  Palmyre,  with  a  pretence 
of  abandoning  her  impression,  "  then  you  want  me 
to  work  you  a  spell  for  money,  do  you  ?  " 

Aurora  nodded,  while  she  still  avoided  the  quad- 
roon's glance. 

"I  know  better,"  thought  the  philosophe.  "You 
shall  have  the  sort  you  want." 

The  widow  stole  an  upward  glance. 

"Oh!"  said  Palmyre,  with  the  manner  of  one 
making  a  decided  digression,  "  I  have  been  wanting 
to  ask  you  something.  That  evening  at  the  phar- 
macy —  was  there  a  tall,  handsome  gentleman  stand- 
ing by  the  counter?  " 

"  He  was  standing  on  the  other  side." 

"  Did  you  see  his  face  ?  " 

"  No  ;  his  back  was  turned." 

"  Momselle  Aurore,"  said  Palmyre,  dropping  her 
elbows  upon  her  knees  and  taking  the  lady's  hand 
as  if  the  better  to  secure  the  truth,  "  was  that  the 
gentleman  you  met  at  the  ball  ?  " 

"  My  faith  !  "  said  Aurora,  stretching  her  eye- 
brows upward.  "  I  did  not  think  to  look.  Who 
was  it  ?  " 

But  Palmyre  Philosophe  was  not  going  to  give 
more  than  she  got,  even  to  her  old-time  Momselle ; 


ioo  The  Grandissimes 

she  merely  straightened  back  into  her  chair  with  an 
amiable  face. 

"  Who  do  you  think  he  is  ?  "  persisted  Aurora, 
after  a  pause,  smiling  downward  and  toying  with  her 
rings. 

The  quadroon  shrugged. 

They  both  sat  in  reverie  for  a  moment  —  a  long 
moment  for  such  sprightly  natures  —  and  Palmyre's 
mien  took  on  a  professional  gravity.  She  presently 
pushed  the  landlord's  letter  under  the  lady's  hands 
as  they  lay  clasped  in  her  lap,  and  a  moment  after 
drew  Aurora's  glance  with  her  large,  strong  eyes 
and   asked  : 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  " 

The  lady  immediately  looked  startled  and  alarmed 
and  again  dropped  her  eyes  in  silence.  The  quad- 
roon had  to  speak  again. 

"  We  will  burn  a  candle." 

Aurora  trembled. 

"  No,"  she  succeeded  in  saying. 

"  Yes,"  said  Palmyre,  "  you  must  get  your  rent 
money."  But  the  charm  which  she  was  meditating 
had  no  reference  to  rent  money.  "  She  knows 
that,"  thought  the  voudou. 

As  she  rose  and  called  her  Congo  slave-woman, 
Aurora  made  as  if  to  protest  further ;  but  utterance 
failed  her.  She  clenched  her  hands  and  prayed  to 
fate  for  Clotilde  to  come  and  lead  her  away  as  she 
had  done  at  the  apothecary's.     And  well  she  might. 

The  articles  brought  in  by  the  servant  were 
simply   a  little   pound-cake  and  cordial,  a   tumbler 


Before  Sunset  101 

half-filled  with  the  strop  naturelle  of  the  sugar-cane, 
and  a  small  piece  of  candle  of  the  kind  made  from 
the  fragrant  green  wax  of  the  candleberry  myrtle. 
These  were  set  upon  the  small  table,  the  bit  of 
candle  standing,  lighted,  in  the  tumbler  of  sirup, 
the  cake  on  a  plate,  the  cordial  in  a  wine-glass. 
This  feeble  child's  play  was  all  ;  except  that  as 
Palmyre  closed  out  all  daylight  from  the  room 
and  received  the  offering  of  silver  that  "  paid  the 
floor"  and  averted  guillons  (interferences  of  outside 
imps),  Aurora, —  alas  !  alas  !  —  went  down  upon 
her  knees  with  her  gaze  fixed  upon  the  candle's 
flame,  and  silently  called  on  Assonquer  (the  imp  of 
good  fortune)  to  cast  his  snare  in  her  behalf  around 
the  mind  and  heart  of —  she  knew  not  whom. 

By  and  by  her  lips,  which  had  moved  at  first, 
were  still  and  she  only  watched  the  burning  wax. 
When  the  flame  rose  clear  and  long  it  was  a  sign 
that  Assonquer  was  enlisted  in  the  coveted  endeavor. 
When  the  wick  sputtered,  the  devotee  trembled  in 
fear  of  failure.  Its  charred  end  curled  down  and 
twisted  away  from  her  and  her  heart  sank  ;  but  the 
tall  figure  of  Palmyre  for  a  moment  came  between, 
the  wick  was  snuffed,  the  flame  tapered  up  again, 
and  for  a  long  time  burned,  a  bright,  tremulous 
cone.  Again  the  wick  turned  down,  but  this  time 
toward  her, —  a  propitious  omen, —  and  suddenly 
fell  through  the  expended  wax  and  went  out  in  the 
sirup. 

The  daylight,  as  Palmyre  let  it  once  more  into 
the  apartment,  showed  Aurora  sadly  agitated.      In 


102  The  Grandissimes 

evidence  of  the  innocence  of  her  fluttering  heart, 
guilt,  at  least  for  the  moment,  lay  on  it,  an  appalling 
burden. 

"  That  is  all,  Palmyre,  is  it  not  ?  I  am  sure  that 
is  all  —  it  must  be  all.  I  cannot  stay  any  longer. 
I  wish  I  was  with  Clotilde ;  I  have  stayed  too 
long." 

"  Yes  ;  all  for  the  present,"  replied  the  quadroon. 
"  Here,  here  is  some  charmed  basil ;  hold  it  between 
your  lips  as  you  walk " 

"  But  I  am  going  to  my  landlord's  office ! " 

"  Office  ?  Nobody  is  at  his  office  now ;  it  is  too 
late.  You  would  find  that  your  landlord  had  gone 
to  dinner.  I  will  tell  you,  though,  where  you  must 
go.  First  go  home;  eat  your  dinner;  and  this 
evening  [the  Creoles  never  say  afternoon],  about  a 
half-hour  before  sunset,  walk  down  Royale  to  the 
lower  corner  of  the  Place  d'Armes,  pass  entirely 
around  the  square  and  return  up  Royale.  Never 
look  behind  until  you  get  into  your  house  again." 

Aurora  blushed  with  shame. 

"  Alone  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  quite  unnerved  and 
tremulous. 

"  You  will  seem  to  be  alone  ;  but  I  will  follow 
behind  you  when  you  pass  here.  Nothing  shall 
hurt  you.  If  you  do  that,  the  charm  will  certainly 
work;  if  you  do  not " 

The  quadroon's  intentions  were  good.  She  was 
determined  to  see  who  it  was  that  could  so  infatuate 
her  dear  little  Momselle;  and,  as  on  such  an  evening 
as  the  present  afternoon  promised  to  merge  into  all 


I 


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'jjri*"*"-  -"" 

Before  Sunset  103 

New  Orleans  promenaded  on  the  Place  d'Armes 
and  the  levee,  her  charm  was  a  very  practical   one. 

"And  that  will  bring  the  money,  will  it?  "  asked 
Aurora. 

"  It  will  bring  anything  you  want." 

"  Possible  ?  " 

"  These  things  that  you  want,  Momselle  Aurore, 
are  easy  to  bring.  You  have  no  charms  working 
against  you.  But,  oh,  I  wish  to  God  I  could  work 
the  curse  I  want  to  work  !  "  The  woman's  eyes 
blazed,  her  bosom  heaved,  she  lifted  her  clenched 
hand  above  her  head  and  looked  upward,  crying  : 
"  I  would  give  this  right  hand  off  at  the  wrist  to 
catch  Agricola  Fusilier  where  I  could  work  him 
a  curse  !  But  I  shall ;  I  shall  some  day  be 
revenged ! "  She  pitched  her  voice  still  higher. 
"  I  cannot  die  till  I  have  been  !  There  is  nothing 
that  could  kill  me,  I  want  my  revenge  so  bad  !  " 
As  suddenly  as  she  had  broken  out,  she  hushed, 
unbarred  the  door,  and  with  a  stern  farewell  smile 
saw  Aurora  turn    homeward. 

"  Give  me  something  to  eat,  cherie,"  cried  the 
exhausted  lady,  dropping  into  Clotilde's  chair  and 
trying  to  die. 

"  Ah  !  maman,  what  makes  you  look  so  sick  ? " 

Aurora  waved  her  hand  contemptuously  and 
gasped. 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?  What  kept  you  so  long  — 
so  long?  " 

"  Ask  me  nothing  ;  I  am  so  enraged  with  dis- 
appointment.     He  was  gone  to  dinner!  " 


104  The  Grandissimes 

"Ah!  my  poor  mother  !  " 

"  And  I  must  go  back  as  soon  as  I  can  take  a 
little  sieste.  I  am  determined  to  see  him  this  very 
day." 

"  Ah  !  my  poor  mother  !  " 


CHAPTER   XV 

ROLLED     IN    THE     DUST 

"  No,  Frowenfeld,"  said  little  Doctor  Keene, 
speaking  for  the  after-dinner  loungers,  "  you  must 
take  a  little  human  advice.  Go,  get  the  air  on  the 
Plaza.  We  will  keep  shop  for  you.  Stay  as  long 
as  you  like  and  come  home  in  any  condition  you 
think  best."  And  Joseph,  tormented  into  this 
course,  put  on  his  hat  and  went  out. 

"  Hard  to  move  as  a  cow  in  the  moonlight,"  con- 
tinued Doctor  Keene,  "  and  knows  just  about  as 
much  of  the  world.  He  was  n't  aware,  until  I  told 
him  to-day,  that  there  are  two  Honore  Grandis- 
simes."     [Laughter.] 

"  Why  did  you  tell  him  ?  " 

"I  didn't  give  him  anything  but  the  bare  fact. 
I  want  to  see  how  long  it  will  take  him  to  find  out 
the  rest." 

The  Place  d'Armes  offered  amusement  to  every 
one  else  rather  than  to  the  immigrant.  The  family 
relation,    the    most   noticeable   feature   of  its   well- 


Rolled  in  the  Dust  105 

pleased  groups,  was  to  him  too  painful  a  reminder 
of  his  late  losses,  and,  after  an  honest  endeavor  to 
flutter  out  of  the  inner  twilight  of  himself  into  the 
outer  glare  of  a  moving  world,  he  had  given  up  the 
effort  and  had  passed  beyond  the  square  and  seated 
himself  upon  a  rude  bench  which  encircled  the  trunk 
of  a  willow  on  the  levee. 

The  negress,  who,  resting  near  by  with  a  tray  of 
cakes  before  her,  has  been  for  some  time  contem- 
plating the  three-quarter  face  of  her  unconscious 
neighbor,  drops  her  head  at  last  with  a  small,  Ethi- 
opian, feminine  laugh.  It  is  a  self-confession  that, 
pleasant  as  the  study  of  his  countenance  is,  to  re- 
solve that  study  into  knowledge  is  beyond  her 
powers  ;  and  very  pardonablv  so  it  is,  she  being  but 
a  marchande  des  gateaux  (an  itinerant  cake-vender), 
and  he,  she  concludes,  a  man  of  parts.  There  is  a 
purpose,  too,  as  well  as  an  admission,  in  the  laugh. 
She  would  like  to  engage  him  in  conversation.  But 
he  does  not  notice.  Little  supposing  he  is  the 
object  ot  even  a  cake-merchant's  attention,  he  is 
lost  in  idle  meditation. 

One  would  guess  his  age  to  be  as  much  as  twenty- 
six.  His  face  is  beardless,  of  course,  like  almost 
everybody's  around  him,  and  of  a  German  kind  of 
seriousness.  A  certain  diffidence  in  his  look  may 
tend  to  render  him  unattractive  to  careless  eyes,  the 
more  so  since  he  has  a  slight  appearance  of  self- 
neglect.  On  a  second  glance,  his  refinement  shows 
out  more  distinctly,  and  one  also  sees  that  he  is  not 
shabby.      The   little  that  seems   lacking  is  woman's 


1 06  The  Grandissimes 

care,  the  brush  of  attentive  fingers  here  and  there, 
the  turning  of  a  fold  in  the  high-collared  coat,  and 
a  mere  touch  on  the  neckerchief  and  shirt-frill.  He 
has  a  decidedly  good  forehead.  His  blue  eyes, 
while  they  are  both  strong  and  modest,  are  notice- 
able, too,  as  betraying  fatigue,  and  the  shade  of 
gravity  in  them  is  deepened  by  a  certain  worn  look 
of  excess  —  in  books;  a  most  unusual  look  in  New 
Orleans  in  those  days,  and  pointedly  out  of  keeping 
with  the  scene  which  was  absorbing  his  attention. 

You  might  mistake  the  time  for  mid-May.  Before 
the  view  lies  the  Place  d'Armes  in  its  green-breasted 
uniform  of  new  spring  grass  crossed  diagonally  with 
white  shell  walks  for  facings,  and  dotted  with  the 
'elite  of  the  city  for  decorations.  Over  the  line  of 
shade-trees  which  marks  its  farther  boundary,  the 
white-topped  twin  turrets  of  St.  Louis  Cathedral 
look  across  it  and  beyond  the  bared  site  of  the  re- 
moved battery  (built  by  the  busy  Carondelet  to 
protect  Louisiana  from  herself  and  Kentucky,  and 
razed  by  his  immediate  successors)  and  out  upon 
the  Mississippi,  the  color  of  whose  surface  is  begin- 
ning to  change  with  the  changing  sky  of  this  beau- 
tiful and  now  departing  day.  A  breeze,  which  is 
almost  early  June,  and  which  has  been  hovering 
over  the  bosom  of  the  great  river  and  above  the 
turf-covered  levee,  ceases,  as  if  it  sank  exhausted 
under  its  burden  of  spring  odors,  and  in  the  pro- 
found calm  the  cathedral  bell  strikes  the  sunset 
hour.  From  its  neighboring  garden,  the  convent 
of  the  Ursulines  responds  in  a  tone  of  devoutness, 


Rolled  in  the  Dust  107 

while  from  the  parapet  of  the  less  pious  little  Fort 
St.  Charles,  the  evening  gun  sends  a  solemn  ejacula- 
tion rumbling  down  the  "coast;  "  a  drum  rolls,  the 
air  rises  again  from  the  water  like  a  flock  of  birds, 
and  many  in  the  square  and  on  the  levee's  crown 
turn  and  accept  its  gentle  blowing.  Rising  over 
the  levee  willows,  and  sinking  into  the  streets, — 
which  are  lower  than  the  water,  —  it  flutters  among 
the  balconies  and  in  and  out  of  dim  Spanish  arcades, 
and  finally  drifts  away  toward  that  part  of  the  sky 
where  the  sun  is  sinking  behind  the  low,  unbroken 
line  of  forest.  There  is  such  seduction  in  the  even- 
ing air,  such  sweetness  of  flowers  on  its  every 
motion,  such  lack  of  cold,  or  heat,  or  dust,  or  wet, 
that  the  people  have  no  heart  to  stay  in-doors ;  nor 
is  there  any  reason  why  they  should.  The  levee 
road  is  dotted  with  horsemen,  and  the  willow  avenue 
on  the  levee's  crown,  the  whole  short  mile  between 
Terre  aux  Bceufs  gate  on  the  right  and  Tchoupitou- 
las  gate  on  the  left,  is  bright  with  promenaders, 
although  the  hour  is  brief  and  there  will  be  no  twi- 
light ;  for,  so  far  from  being  May,  it  is  merely  that 
same  nineteenth  of  which  we  have  already  spoken, 
—  the  nineteenth  of  Louisiana's  delicious  February. 
Among  the  throng  were  many  whose  names  were 
going  to  be  written  large  in  history.  There  was 
Casa  Calvo,  —  Sebastian  de  Casa  Calvo  de  la  Puerta 
y  O'Farril,  Marquis  of  Casa  Calvo,  —  a  man  then  at 
the  fine  age  of  fifty-three,  elegant,  fascinating,  per- 
fect in  Spanish  courtesy  and  Spanish  diplomacy, 
rolling  by   in   a  showy  equipage   surrounded  by  a 


108  The  Grandissimes 

clanking  body-guard  of  the  Catholic  king's  cavalry. 
There  was  young  Daniel  Clark,  already  beginning 
to  amass  those  riches  which  an  age  of  litigation  has 
not  to  this  day  consumed ;  it  was  he  whom  the 
French  colonial  prefect,  Laussat,  in  a  late  letter  to 
France,  had  extolled  as  a  man  whose  "  talents  for 
intrigue  were  carried  to  a  rare  degree  of  excellence." 
There  was  Laussat  himself,  in  the  flower  of  his 
years,  sour  with  pride,  conscious  of  great  official  in- 
significance and  full  of  petty  spites  —  he  yet  tarried 
in  a  land  where  his  beautiful  wife  was  the  "  model 
of  taste."  There  was  that  convivial  old  fox,  Wil- 
kinson, who  had  plotted  for  years  with  Miro  and 
did  not  sell  himself  and  his  country  to  Spain  because 
—  as  we  now  say  —  "  he  found  he  could  do  better ;  " 
who  modestly  confessed  himself  in  a  traitor's  letter 
to  the  Spanish  king  as  a  man  "  whose  head  may  err, 
but  whose  heart  cannot  deceive  !  "  and  who  brought 
Governor  Gayoso  to  an  early  death-bed  by  simply 
out-drinking  him.  There  also  was  Edward  Living- 
ston, attorney-at-law,  inseparably  joined  to  the 
mention  of  the  famous  Batture  cases  —  though  that 
was  later.  There  also  was  that  terror  of  colonial 
peculators,  the  old  ex-Intendant  Morales,  who, 
having  quarrelled  with  every  governor  of  Louisiana 
he  ever  saw,  was  now  snarling  at  Casa  Calvo  from 
force  of  habit. 

And  the  Creoles  —  the  Knickerbockers  of  Lou- 
isiana—  but  time  would  fail  us.  The  Villeres  and 
Destrehans  —  patriots  and  patriots'  sons ;  the  De 
La  Chaise  family  in  mourning  for  young  Auguste 


Rolled  in  the  Dust  109 

La  Chaise  of  Kentuckian-Louisianian-San  Domin- 
gan  history  ;  the  Livaudaises,^>t7V  etfils,  of  Haunted 
House  fame,  descendants  of  the  first  pilot  of  the 
Belize  ;  the  pirate  brothers  Lafitte,  moving  among 
the  best ;  Marigny  de  Mandeville,  afterwards  the 
marquis  member  of  Congress ;  the  Davezacs,  the 
Mossys,  the  Boulignys,  the  Labatuts,  the  Bringiers, 
the  De  Trudeaus,  the  De  Macartys,  the  De  la 
Houssayes,  the  De  Lavillebceuvres,  the  Grandpres, 
the  Forstalls  ;  and  the  proselyted  Creoles  :  Etienne 
de  Bore  (he  was  the  father  of  all  such  as  handle  the 
sugar-kettle)  ;  old  man  Pitot,  who  became  mayor  ; 
Madame  Pontalba  and  her  unsuccessful  suitor,  John 
McDonough  ;  the  three  Girods,  the  two  Graviers, 
or  the  lone  Julian  Poydras,  godfather  of  orphan 
girls.  Besides  these,  and  among  them  as  shining 
fractions  of  the  community,  the  numerous  repre- 
sentatives of  the  not  only  noble,  but  noticeable  and 
ubiquitous,  family  of  Grandissime :  Grandissimes 
simple  and  Grandissimes  compound ;  Brahmins, 
Mandarins  and  Fusiliers.  One,  'Polyte  by  name, 
a  light,  gay  fellow,  with  classic  features,  hair  turning 
gray,  is  standing  and  conversing  with  this  group 
here  by  the  mock-cannon  inclosure  of  the  grounds. 
Another,  his  cousin,  Charlie  Mandarin,  a  tall,  very 
slender,  bronzed  gentleman  in  a  flannel  hunting- 
shirt  and  buckskin  leggings,  is  walking,  in  moccasins, 
with  a  sweet  lady  in  whose  tasteful  attire  feminine 
scrutiny,  but  such  only,  might  detect  economy,  but 
whose  marked  beauty  of  yesterday  is  retreating  and 
reappearing  in   the  flock  of  children  who  are  nois- 


iio  The  Grandissimes 

ily  running  round  and  round  them,  nominally  in 
the  care  of  three  fat  and  venerable  black  nurses. 
Another,  yonder,  Theophile  Grandissime,  is  whip- 
ping his  stockings  with  his  cane,  a  lithe  youngster 
in  the  height  of  the  fashion  (be  it  understood  the 
fashion  in  New  Orleans  was  five  years  or  so  behind 
Paris),  with  a  joyous,  noble  face,  a  merry  tongue 
and  giddy  laugh,  and  a  confession  of  experiences 
which  these  pages,  fortunately  for  their  moral  tone, 
need  not  recount.  All  these  were  there  and  many 
others. 

This  throng,  shifting  like  the  fragments  of  colored 
glass  in  the  kaleidoscope,  had  its  far-away  interest 
to  the  contemplative  Joseph.  To  them  he  was 
of  little  interest,  or  none.  Of  the  many  passers, 
scarcely  an  occasional  one  greeted  him,  and  such  only 
with  an  extremely  polite  and  silent  dignity  which 
seemed  to  him  like  saying  something  of  this  sort : 
"  Most  noble  alien,  give  you  good-day  —  stay  where 
you  are.      Profoundly  yours " 

Two  men  came  through  the  Place  d'Armes  on 
conspicuously  fine  horses.  One  it  is  not  necessary 
to  describe.  The  other,  a  man  of  perhaps  thirty- 
three  or  thirty-four  years  of  age,  was  extremely 
handsome  and  well  dressed,  the  martial  fashion  of 
the  day  showing  his  tall  and  finely  knit  figure  to 
much  advantage.  He  sat  his  horse  with  an  uncom- 
mon grace,  and,  as  he  rode  beside  his  companion, 
spoke  and  gave  ear  by  turns  with  an  easy  dignity 
sufficient  of  itself  to  have  attracted  popular  obser- 
vation.     It  was   the   apothecary's  unknown  friend. 


Rolled  in  the  Dust  1 1  i 

Frowenfeld  noticed  them  while  they  were  yet  in  the 
middle  of  the  grounds.  He  could  hardly  have 
failed  to  do  so,  for  some  one  close  beside  his  bench 
in  undoubted  allusion  to  one  of  the  approaching 
figures    exclaimed  : 

"  Here  comes  Honore  Grandissime." 
Moreover,  at  that  moment  there  was  a  slight 
unwonted  stir  on  the  Place  d'Armes.  It  began  at 
the  farther  corner  of  the  square,  hard  by  the  Prin- 
cipal, and  spread  so  quickly  through  the  groups 
near  about,  that  in  a  minute  the  entire  company 
were  quietly  made  aware  of  something  going  notably 
wrong  in  their  immediate  presence.  There  was  no 
running  to  see  it.  There  seemed  to  be  not  so  much 
as  any  verbal  communication  of  the  matter  from 
mouth  to  mouth.  Rather  a  consciousness  appeared 
to  catch  noiselessly  from  one  to  another  as  the 
knowledge  of  human  intrusion  comes  to  groups 
of  deer  in  a  park.  There  was  the  same  elevating 
of  the  head  here  and  there,  the  same  rounding  of 
beautiful  eyes.  Some  stared,  others  slowly  ap- 
proached, while  others  turned  and  moved  away  ; 
but  a  common  indignation  was  in  the  breast  of  that 
thing  dreadful  evervwhere,  but  terrible  in  Louisiana, 
the  Majority.  For  there,  in  the  presence  of  those 
good  citizens,  before  the  eyes  of  the  proudest  and 
fairest  mothers  and  daughters  of  New  Orleans, 
glaringly,  on  the  open  Plaza,  the  Creole  whom 
Joseph  had  met  by  the  graves  in  the  field,  Honore 
Grandissime,  the  uttermost  flower  on  the  topmost 
branch  of  the  tallest  family  tree  ever  transplanted 


1 1  2  The  Grandissimes 

from  France  to  Louisiana,  Honore, —  the  wor- 
shiped, the  magnificent,  —  in  the  broad  light  of  the 
sun's  going  down,  rode  side  by  side  with  the 
Yankee  governor  and  was  not  ashamed  ! 

Joseph,  on  his  bench,  sat  contemplating  the  two 
parties  to  this  scandal  as  they  came  toward  him. 
Their  horses'  flanks  were  damp  from  some  pleasant 
gallop,  but  their  present  gait  was  the  soft,  mettle- 
some movement  of  animals  who  will  even  submit 
to  walk  if  their  masters  insist.  As  they  wheeled 
out  of  the  broad  diagonal  path  that  crossed  the 
square,  and  turned  toward  him  in  the  highway,  he 
fancied  that  the  Creole  observed  him.  He  was 
not  mistaken.  As  they  seemed  about  to  pass  the 
spot  where  he  sat,  M.  Grandissime  interrupted  the 
governor  with  a  word  and,  turning  his  horse's 
head,  rode  up  to  the  bench,  lifting  his  hat  as  he 
came. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Frowenfeld." 

Joseph,  looking  brighter  than  when  he  sat  unac- 
costed,  rose  and  blushed. 

"  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  you  know  my  uncle  very  well, 
I  believe — Agricole  Fusilier — long  beard?" 

"  Oh  !  yes,  sir,  certainly." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  I  shall  be  much  obliged 
if  you  will  tell  him  —  that  is,  should  you  meet  him 
this  evening — that  I  wish  to  see  him.  If  you  will 
be  so  kind  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes,  sir,  certainly." 

Frowenfeld's  diffidence  made  itself  evident  in  this 
reiterated  phrase. 


Rolled  in  the  Dust  i  1  3 

"  I  do  not  know  that  you  will  see  him,  but  if 
you  should,  you  know " 

"  Oh,  certainly,  sir  !  " 

The  two  paused  a  single  instant,  exchanging  a 
smile  of  amiable  reminder  from  the  horseman  and 
of  bashful  but  pleased  acknowledgment  from  the 
one  who  saw  his  precepts  being  reduced  to 
practice. 

"  Well,  good-evening,  Mr.  Frowenfeld." 

M.  Grandissime  lifted  his  hat  and  turned. 
Frowenfeld  sat  down. 

"  Bou  zou,  Miche  Honore  !  "  called  the  marchande. 

"  Comment  to  ye,  Clemence  ?  " 

The  merchant  waved  his  hand  as  he  rode  awav 
with  his  companion. 

"  Beau  Miche,  la"  said  the  marchande,  catching 
Joseph's  eye. 

He  smiled  his  ignorance  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Dass  one  fine  gen'leman,"  she  repeated.  "  Mo 
pa'le  Angle,"  she  added  with  a  chuckle. 

"  You  know  him  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yass,  sah  ;  Mawse  Honore  knows  me, 
yass.  All  de  gen'lemens  knows  me.  I  sell  de 
calas ;  mawnin's  sell  calas,  evenin's  sell  zinzer-cake. 
You  know  me  "  (a  fact  which  Joseph  had  all  along 
been  aware  of).  "  Dat  me  w'at  pass  in  rue  Royale 
ev'y  mawnin'  holl'in'  '  Be  calas  touts  chauds,'  an' 
singin' ;  don't  vou  know  ?  " 

The  enthusiasm  of  an  artist  overcame  any  timidity 
she  might  have  been  supposed  to  possess,  and, 
waiving  the  formality   of  an   invitation,  she  began, 


1 1 4  The  Grandissimes 

to  Frowenfeld's  consternation,  to  sing,  in  a  loud, 
nasal  voice. 

But  the  performance,  long  familiar,  attracted  no 
public  attention,  and  he  for  whose  special  delight 
it  was  intended  had  taken  an  attitude  of  disclaimer 
and  was  again  contemplating  the  quiet  groups  of 
the  Place  d'Armes  and  the  pleasant  hurry  of  the 
levee  road. 

"  Don't  you  know  ? "  persisted  the  woman. 
"Yass,   sah,  dass  me;  I 's  Clemence." 

But  Frowenfeld  was  looking  another  way. 

"  You  know  my  boy,"  suddenly  said  she. 

Frowenfeld  looked  at  her. 

"  Yass,  sah.  Dat  boy  w'at  bring  you  de  box  of 
basilic  lass  Chrismus  ;  dass  my  boy." 

She  straightened  her  cakes  on  the  tray  and  made 
some  changes  in  their  arrangement  that  possibly 
were  important. 

"  I  learned  to  speak  English  in  Fijinny.  Bawn 
dah." 

She  looked  steadily  into  the  apothecary's  ab- 
sorbed countenance  for  a  full  minute,  then  let 
her  eyes  wander  down  the  highway.  The  human 
tide  was  turning  cityward.  Presently  she  spoke 
again. 

"  Folks  comin'  home  a'ready,  yass." 

Her  hearer  looked  down  the  road. 

Suddenly  a  voice  that,  once  heard,  was  always 
known,  —  deep  and  pompous,  as  if  a  lion  roared, — 
sounded  so  close  behind  him  as  to  startle  him  half 
from  his  seat. 


Rolled  in  the  Dust  1 1  5 

"  Is  this  a  corporeal  man,  or  must  I  doubt  my 
eyes  ?      Hah  !      Professor  Frowenfeld  !  "  it  said. 

"  Mr.  Fusilier  !  "  exclaimed  Frowenfeld  in  a  sub- 
dued voice,  while  he  blushed  again  and  looked  at 
the  new-comer  with  that  sort  of  awe  which  children 
experience  in  a  menagerie. 

"  Citizen  Fusilier,"  said  the  lion. 

Agricola  indulged  to  excess  the  grim  hypocrisy 
of  brandishing  the  catchwords  of  newfangled 
reforms  ;  they  served  to  spice  a  breath  that  was 
strong  with  the  praise  of  the  "  superior  liberties  of 
Europe,"  —  those  old,  cast-iron  tyrannies  to  get  rid 
of  which  America  was  settled. 

Frowenfeld  smiled  amusedly  and  apologetically 
at  the  same  moment. 

"  I  am  glad  to  meet  you.      I " 

He  was  going  on  to  give  Honore  Grandissime's 
message,  but  was  interrupted. 

"  My  young  friend,"  rumbled  the  old  man  in  his 
deepest  key,  smiling  emotionally  and  holding  and 
solemning  continuing  to  shake  Joseph's  hand,  "  I 
am  sure  you  are.  You  ought  to  thank  God  that 
you  have  my  acquaintance." 

Frowenfeld  colored  to  the  temples. 

"  I  must  acknowledge "  he  began. 

"  Ah  !  "  growled  the  lion,  "  your  beautiful  mod- 
esty leads  you  to  misconstrue  me,  sir.  You  pay 
my  judgment  no  compliment.  I  know  your  worth, 
sir;  I  merely  meant,  sir,  that  in  me  —  poor, 
humble  me  —  you  have  secured  a  sympathizer  in 
your  tastes  and  plans.     Agricola  Fusilier,  sir,  is  not 


1 1 6  The  Grandissimes 

a  cock  on  a  dunghill,  to  find  a  jewel  and  then 
scratch  it  aside." 

The  smile  of  diffidence,  but  not  the  flush,  passed 
from  the  young  man's  face,  and  he  sat  down 
forcibly. 

"You jest,"  he  said. 

The  reply  was  a  majestic  growl. 

"  I  never  jest !  "  The  speaker  half  sat  down, 
then  straightened  up  again.  "  Ah,  the  Marquis  of 
Caso  Calvo !  —  I  must  bow  to  him,  though  an 
honest  man's  bow  is  more  than   he  deserves." 

"More  than  he  deserves?"  was  Frowenfeld's 
query. 

"  More  than  he  deserves  !  "  was  the  response. 

"  What  has  he  done  ?    I  have  never  heard " 

The  denunciator  turned  upon  Frowenfeld  his 
most  royal  frown,  and  retorted  with  a  question 
which  still  grows  wild  in   Louisiana : 

"  What  "  —  he  seemed  to  shake  his  mane  — 
"  what  has  he  not  done,  sir  ?  "  and  then  he  with- 
drew his  frown  slowly,  as  if  to  add,  "  You  '11  be 
careful  next  time  how  you  cast  doubt  upon  a 
public  official's  guilt." 

The  marquis's  cavalcade  came  briskly  jingling  by. 
Frowenfeld  saw  within  the  carriage  two  men,  one  in 
citizen's  dress,  the  other  in  a  brilliant  uniform. 
The  latter  leaned  forward,  and,  with  a  cordiality 
which  struck  the  young  spectator  as  delightful, 
bowed.  The  immigrant  glanced  at  Citizen  Fusilier, 
expecting  to  see  the  greeting  returned  with  great 
haughtiness ;   instead  of  which  that  person  uncov- 


Rolled  in  the  Dust  i  \j 

ered  his  leonine  head,  and,  with  a  solemn  sweep 
of  his  cocked  hat,  bowed  half  his  length.  Nay, 
he  more  than  bowed,  he  bowed  down  —  so  that  the 
action  hurt  Frowenfeld  from   head  to  foot. 

"  What  large  gentlemen  was  that  sitting  on  the 
other  side?"  asked  the  young  man,  as  his  com- 
panion sat  down  with  the  air  of  having  finished  an 
oration. 

"  No  gentleman  at  all  !  "  thundered  the  citizen. 
"  That  fellow "  (beetling  frown),  "  that  fellow  is 
Edward   Livingston." 

"  The  great  lawyer  ?  " 

"  The  great  villain  !  " 

Frowenfeld  himself  frowned. 

The  old  man  laid  a  hand  upon  his  junior's 
shoulder  and  growled   benignantly  : 

"  My  young  friend,  your  displeasure  delights 
me  !  " 

The  patience  with  which  Frowenfeld  was  bearing 
all  this  forced  a  chuckle  and  shake  of  the  head  from 
the  marchande. 

Citizen  Fusilier  went  on  speaking  in  a  manner 
that  might  be  construed  either  as  address  or  solilo- 
quy, gesticulating  much  and  occasionally  letting  out 
a  fervent  word  that  made  passers  look  around  and 
Joseph  inwardly  wince.  With  eyes  closed  and 
hands  folded  on  the  top  of  the  knotted  staff  which 
he  carried  but  never  used,  he  delivered  an  apos- 
trophe to  the  "  spotless  soul  of  youth,"  enticed  by 
the  "spirit  of  adventure"  to  "launch  away  upon 
the  unploughed  sea  of  the  future  .'  "      He  lifted  one 


1 1 8  The  Grandissimes 

hand  and  smote  the  back  of  the  other  solemnly, 
once,  twice,  and  again,  nodding  his  head  faintly 
several  times  without  opening  his  eyes,  as  who 
should  say,  "  Very  impressive ;  go  on,"  and  so 
resumed ;  spoke  of  this  spotless  soul  of  youth 
searching  under  unknown  latitudes  for  the  "  sunken 
treasures  of  experience  "  ;  indulged,  as  the  reporters 
of  our  day  would  say,  in  "  many  beautiful  flights 
of  rhetoric,"  and  finally  depicted  the  loathing  with 
which  the  spotless  soul  of  youth  "  recoils  !  "  — 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word  so  emphatically  as  to 
make  a  pretty  little  boy  who  stood  gaping  at  him 
start  back  —  "on  encountering  in  the  holy  cham- 
bers of  public  office  the  vultures  hatched  in  the 
nests  of  ambition  and  avarice  !  " 

Three  or  four  persons  lingered  carelessly  near  by 
with  ears  wide  open.  Frowenfeld  felt  that  he  must 
bring  this  to  an  end,  and,  like  any  young  person 
who  has  learned  neither  deceit  nor  disrespect  to 
seniors,  he  attempted  to  reason  it  down. 

"You  do  not  think  many  of  our  public  men  are 
dishonest !  " 

"  Sir  !  "  replied  the  rhetorician,  with  a  patronizing 
smile,  "  h-you  must  be  thinking  of  France  !  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  of  Louisiana." 

"Louisiana!  Dishonest?  All,  sir,  all.  They 
are  all  as  corrupt  as  Olympus,  sir  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Frowenfeld,  with  more  feeling  than 
was  called  for,  "  there  is  one  who,  I  feel  sure,  is 
pure.      I  know  it  by  his  face  !  " 

The  old  man  gave  a  look  of  stern  interrogation. 


Rolled  in  the  Dust  1 1 9 

"  Governor  Claiborne." 

"  Ye-e-e  g-hods !  Claiborne!  Claiborne!  Why, 
he  is  a  Yankee  !  " 

The  lion  glowered  over  the  lamb  like  a  thunder- 
cloud. 

"  He  is  a  Virginian,"  said  Frowenfeld. 

"  He  is  an  American,  and  no  American  can  be 
honest." 

"  You  are  prejudiced,"  exclaimed  the  young  man. 

Citizen  Fusilier  made  himself  larger. 

"  What  is  prejudice  ?      I  do  not  know." 

"  I  am  an  American  myself,"  said  Frowenfeld, 
rising  up  with  his  face  burning. 

The  citizen  rose  up  also,  but  unruffled. 

"  My  beloved  young  friend,"  laying  his  hand 
heavily  upon  the  other's  shoulder,  "  you  are  not. 
You  were  merely  born  in  America." 

But  Frowenfeld  was  not  appeased. 

"  Hear  me  through,"  persisted  the  flatterer. 
"  You  were  merely  born  in  America.  I,  too,  was 
born  in  America ;  but  will  any  man  responsible  for 
his  opinion  mistake  me  —  Agricola  Fusilier  —  for 
an  American  ? " 

He  clutched  his  cane  in  the  middle  and  glared 
around,  but  no  person  seemed  to  be  making  the 
mistake  to  which  he  so  scornfully  alluded,  and  he 
was  about  to  speak  again  when  an  outcry  of  alarm 
coming  simultaneously  from  Joseph  and  the  mar- 
chande  directed  his  attention  to  a  lady  in  danger. 

The  scene,  as  afterward  recalled  to  the  mind  of 
the  un-American  citizen,  included  the  figures  of  his 


i  20  The  Grandissimes 

nephew  and  the  new  governor  returning  up  the 
road  at  a  canter;  but,  at  the  time,  he  knew  only 
that  a  lady  of  unmistakable  gentility,  her  back 
toward  him,  had  just  gathered  her  robes  and  started 
to  cross  the  road,  when  there  was  a  general  cry  of 
warning,  and  the  marchande  cried,  "  Garde  choual !  " 
while  the  lady  leaped  directly  into  the  danger  and 
his  nephew's  horse  knocked  her  to  the  earth  ! 

Though  there  was  a  rush  to  the  rescue  from 
every  direction,  she  was  on  her  feet  before  any  one 
could  reach  her,  her  lips  compressed,  nostrils  dilated, 
cheek  burning,  and  eyes  flashing  a  lady's  wrath 
upon  a  dismounted  horseman.  It  was  the  gover- 
nor. As  the  crowd  had  rushed  in,  the  startled 
horses,  from  whom  the  two  riders  had  instantly 
leaped,  drew  violently  back,  jerking  their  masters 
with  them  and  leaving  only  the  governor  in  range 
of  the  lady's  angry  eye. 

"  Mademoiselle!"  he  cried,  striving  to  reach  her. 

She  pointed  him  in  gasping  indignation  to  his 
empty  saddle,  and,  as  the  crowd  farther  separated 
them,  waved  away  all  permission  to  apologize  and 
turned  her  back. 

"  Hah  !  "   cried  the  crowd,  echoing  her  humor. 

"  Lady,"  interposed  the  governor,  "do  not  drive 
us  to  the  rudeness  of  leaving " 

"  Animal,  vous !  "  cried  half  a  dozen,  and  the 
lady  gave  him  such  a  look  of  scorn  that  he  did  not 
finish  his  sentence. 

"  Open  the  way,  there,"  called  a  voice  in  French. 

It  was  Honore  Grandissime.      But  just  then  he 


Rolled  in  the  Dust  i  21 

saw  that  the  lady  had  found  the  best  of  protectors, 
and  the  two  horsemen,  having  no  choice,  remounted 
and  rode  away.  As  they  did  so,  M.  Grandissime 
called  something  hurriedly  to  Frowenfeld,  on  whose 
arm  the  lady  hung,  concerning  the  care  of  her  ;  but 
his  words  were  lost  in  the  short  yell  of  derision  sent 
after  himself  and  his  companion  by  the  crowd. 

Old  Agricola,  meanwhile,  was  having  a  trouble 
of  his  own.  He  had  followed  Joseph's  wake  as  he 
pushed  through  the  throng ;  but  as  the  lady  turned 
her  face  he  wheeled  abruptly  away.  This  brought 
again  into  view  the  bench  he  had  just  left,  where- 
upon he,  in  turn,  cried  out,  and,  dashing  through  all 
obstructions,  rushed  back  to  it,  lifting  his  ugly  staff 
as  he  went  and  flourishing  it  in  the  tace  of  Palmyre 
Philosophe. 

She  stood  beside  the  seat  with  the  smile  of  one 
foiled  and  intensely  conscious  of  peril,  but  neither 
frightened  nor  suppliant,  holding  back  with  her  eyes 
the  execution  of  Agricola's  threat  against  her  life. 

Presently  she  drew  a  short  step  backward,  then 
another,  then  a  third,  and  then  turned  and  moved 
away  down  the  avenue  of  willows,  followed  for  a 
few  steps  by  the  lion  and  by  the  laughing  comment 
of  the  marchande,  who  stood  looking  after  them 
with   her  tray  balanced  on  her  head. 

"  Ta,  ya  !  ye  connais  voudou  Men  !  "  ' 

The  old  man  turned  to  rejoin  his  companion. 
The  day  was  rapidly  giving  place  to  night  and  the 
people    were    withdrawing    to    their    homes.       He 

1  "They  're  up  in  the  voudou  arts." 


122  The  Grandissimes 

crossed  the  levee,  passed  through  the  Place  d'Armes 
and  on  into  the  city  without  meeting  the  object  of 
his  search.  For  Joseph  and  the  lady  had  hurried 
off  together. 

As  the  populace  floated  away  in  knots  of  three, 
four  and  five,  those  who  had  witnessed  mademoi- 
selle's (?)  mishap  told  it  to  those  who  had  not; 
explaining  that  it  was  the  accursed  Yankee  gover- 
nor who  had  designedly  driven  his  horse  at  his 
utmost  speed  against  the  fair  victim  (some  of  them 
butted  against  their  hearers  by  way  of  illustration) ; 
that  the  fiend  had  then  maliciously  laughed ;  that 
this  was  all  the  Yankees  came  to  New  Orleans  for, 
and  that  there  was  an  understanding  among  them 
—  "Understanding,  indeed!"  exclaimed  one, 
"  They  have  instructions  from  the  President !  "  — 
that  unprotected  ladies  should  be  run  down  wher- 
ever overtaken.  If  you  did  n't  believe  it  you  could 
ask  the  tyrant,  Claiborne,  himself;  he  made  no 
secret  of  it.  One  or  two  —  but  they  were  con- 
sidered by  others  extravagant  —  testified  that,  as 
the  lady  fell,  they  had  seen  his  face  distorted  with 
a  horrid  delight,  and  had  heard  him  cry  :  "  Daz  de 
way  to  knog  them  !  " 

"  But  how  came  a  lady  to  be  out  on  the  levee,  at 
sunset,  on  foot  and  alone  ?  "  asked  a  citizen,  and 
another  replied  —  both  using  the  French  of  the  late 
province : 

"  As  for  being  on  foot" — a  shrug.  "But  she 
was  not  alone ;  she  had  a  milatraisse  behind  her." 

"Ah  !  so;  that  was  well." 


Starlight  in  the  rue  Chartres  123 

"  But  —  ha,  ha  !  —  the  milatraisse,  seeing  her 
mistress  out  of  danger,  takes  the  opportunity  to  try 
to  bring  the  curse  upon  Agricola  Fusilier  by  sitting 
down  where  he  had  just  risen  up,  and  had  to  get 
away  from  him  as  quickly  as  possible  to  save  her 
own  skull." 

"  And  left  the  lady  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  who  took  her  to  her  home  at  last,  but 
Frowenfeld,  the  apothecary  !  " 

"  Ho,  ho  !  the  astrologer  !  We  ought  to  hang 
that  fellow." 

"  With  his  books  tied  to  his  feet,"  suggested  a 
third  citizen.  "  It  is  no  more  than  we  owe  to  the 
community  to  go  and  smash  his  show-window. 
He  had  better  behave  himself.  Come,  gentlemen, 
a  little  tafia  will  do  us  good.  When  shall  we  ever 
get  through  these  exciting  times  ?  " 


CHAPTER   XVI 

STARLIGHT    IN    THE    RUE    CHARTRES 

"  Oh  !  M'sieur  Frowenfel',  tague  me  ad  home  !" 
It  was  Aurora,  who  caught  the  apothecary's  arm 
vehemently  in  both  her  hands  with  a  look  of 
beautiful  terror.  And  whatever  Joseph's  astronomy 
might  have  previously  taught  him  to  the  contrary, 
he  knew  by  his  senses  that  the  earth  thereupon 
turned  entirely  over  three  times  in  two  seconds. 
His    confused    response,    though    unintelligible, 


i  24  The  Grandissimes 

answered  all  purposes,  as  the  lady  found  herself  the 
next  moment  hurrying  across  the  Place  d'Armes 
close  to  his  side,  and  as  they  by-and-by  passed  its 
farther  limits  she  began  to  be  conscious  that  she  was 
clinging  to  her  protector  as  though  she  would  climb 
up  and  hide  under  his  elbow.  As  they  turned  up 
the  rue  Chartres  she  broke  the  silence. 

"  Oh  !-h  !  "  —  breathlessly,  —  "  'h  !  —  M'sieur 
FrowenP  —  you  wallcin'  so  faz  !  " 

"Oh!"  echoed  Frowenfeld,  "I  did  not  know 
what  I   was  doing." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  the  lady,  "  me,  too,  juz 
de  sem  lag  you  !  attendez;  wait." 

They  halted  ;  a  moment's  deft  manipulation  of  a 
veil  turned  it  into  a  wrapping  for  her  neck. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  00  dad  man  was  ?  You  know 
'im  ? " 

She  returned  her  hand  to  Frowenfeld's  arm  and 
they  moved  on. 

"  The  one  who  spoke  to  you,  or  —  you  know  the 
one  who  got  near  enough  to  apologize  is  not  the 
one  whose   horse  struck  you  !  " 

"  I  din  know.  But  00  dad  odder  one  ?  I  saw 
h-only  'is  back,  bud  I  thing  it  is  de  sem " 

She  identified  it  with  the  back  that  was  turned  to 
her  during  her  last  visit  to  Frowenfeld's  shop ;  but 
finding  herself  about  to  mention  a  matter  so  nearly 
connected  with  the  purse  of  gold,  she  checked  her- 
self; but  Frowenfeld,  eager  to  say  a  good  word  for 
his  acquaintance,  ventured  to  extol  his  character 
while  he  concealed   his   name. 


Starlight  in  the  rue  Chartres  125 

"  While  I  have  never  been  introduced  to  him,  I 
have  some  acquaintance  with  him,  and  esteem  him 
a  noble  gentleman." 

"  Were  you  meet  him  ?  " 

"  I  met  him  first,"  he  said,  "  at  the  graves  of  my 
parents  and  sisters." 

There  was  a  kind  of  hush  after  the  mention,  and 
the  lady  made  no  reply. 

"  It  was  some  weeks  after  my  loss,"  resumed 
Frowenfeld. 

"In  wad  time  tier  e  dad  was  ?  " 

"In  no  cemetery  —  being  Protestants,  you 
know " 

"  Ah,  yes,  sir?  "  with  a  gentle  sigh. 

"  The  physician  who  attended  me  procured  per- 
mission to  bury  them  on  some  private  land  below 
the  city." 

"  Not  in  de  groun'  ?  "  ' 

"  Yes ;  that  was  my  father's  expressed  wish  when 
he  died." 

"  You  'ad  de  fivver  ?  Oo  nurse  you  w'en  you 
was  sick  r  " 

"  An  old  hired  negress." 

"  Dad  was  all  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Hm-m-m  !  "  she  said  piteouslv,  and  laughed  in 
her  sleeve. 

Who  could  hope  to  catch  and  reproduce  the  con- 
tinuous lively  thrill  which  traversed  the  frame  of 
the  escaped  book-worm  as  every  moment  there  was 

1  Only  Jews  and  paupers  are  buried  in  the  ground  in  New  Orleans. 


i  26  The  Grandissimes 

repeated  to  his  consciousness  the  knowledge  that  he 
was  walking  across  the  vault  of  heaven  with  the  even- 
ing star  on  his  arm  —  at  least,  that  he  was,  at  her  insti- 
gation, killing  time  along  the  dim,  ill-lighted  trottoirs 
of  the  rue  Chartres,  with  Aurora  listening  sympa- 
thetically at  his  side.  But  let  it  go  ;  also  the  sweet 
broken  English  with  which  she  now  and  then  inter- 
rupted him  ;  also  the  inward,  hidden  sparkle  of  her 
dancing  Gallic  blood  ;  her  low,  merry  laugh ;  the 
roguish  mental  reservation  that  lurked  behind  her 
graver  speeches ;  the  droll  bravados  she  uttered 
against  the  powers  that  be,  as  with  timid  fingers  he 
brushed  from  her  shoulder  a  little  remaining  dust 
of  the  late  encounter  —  these  things,  we  say,  we  let 
go,  —  as  we  let  butterflies  go  rather  than  pin  them 
to  paper. 

They  had  turned  into  the  rue  Bienville,  and  were 
walking  toward  the  river,  Frowenfeld  in  the  midst 
of  a  long  sentence,  when  a  low  cry  of  tearful  delight 
sounded  in  front  of  them,  some  one  in  long  robes 
glided  forward,  and  he  found  his  arm  relieved  of  its 
burden  and  that  burden  transferred  to  the  bosom 
and  passionate  embrace  of  another  —  we  had  almost 
said  a  fairer  —  Creole,  amid  a  bewildering  inter- 
change of  kisses  and  a  pelting  shower  of  Creole 
French. 

A  moment  after,  Frowenfeld  found  himself  intro- 
duced to  "  my  dotter,  Clotilde,"  who  all  at  once 
ceased  her  demonstrations  of  affection  and  bowed 
to  him  with  a  majestic  sweetness,  that  seemed  one 
instant  grateful  and  the  next,  distant. 


Starlight  in  the  rue  Chartres  I  27 

"  I  can  hardly  understand  that  you  are  not 
sisters,"    said    Frowenfeld,   a  little   awkwardly. 

"Ah  !  ecoutez!"  exclaimed  the  younger. 

"  Ah  !  par  exemple  !  "  cried  the  elder,  and  they 
laughed  down  each  other's  throats,  while  the  immi- 
grant blushed. 

This  encounter  was  presently  followed  by  a  silent 
surprise  when  they  stopped  and  turned  before  the 
door  of  Number  19,  and  Frowenfeld  contrasted  the 
women  with  their  painfully  humble  dwelling.  But 
therein  is  where  your  true  Creole  was,  and  still 
continues  to  be,  properly,  yea,  delightfully  un- 
American  ;  the  outside  of  his  house  may  be  as 
rough  as  the  outside  of  a  bird's  nest ;  it  is  the 
inside  that  is  for  the  birds  ;  and  the  front  room  of 
this  house,  when  the  daughter  presently  threw  open 
the  batten  shutters  of  its  single  street  door,  looked 
as  bright  and  happy,  with  its  candelabra  glittering 
on  the  mantel,  and  its  curtains  of  snowy  lace,  as 
its    bright-eyed    tenants. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  if  you  pliz  to  come  in,"  said 
Aurora,  and  the  timid  apothecary  would  have 
bravely  accepted  the  invitation,  but  for  a  quick  look 
which  he  saw  the  daughter  give  the  mother  ;  where- 
upon he  asked,  instead,  permission  to  call  at  some 
future  day,  and  received  the  cordial  leave  of  Aurora 
and  another  bow  from  Clotilde. 


128  The  Grandissimes 

CHAPTER   XVII 

THAT    NIGHT 

Do  we  not  fail  to  accord  to  our  nights  their  true 
value  ?  We  are  ever  giving  to  our  days  the  credit 
and  blame  of  all  we  do  and  mis-do,  forgetting  those 
silent,  glimmering  hours  when  plans  —  and  some- 
times plots  —  are  laid  ;  when  resolutions  are  formed 
or  changed  ;  when  heaven,  and  sometimes  heaven's 
enemies,  are  invoiced  ;  when  anger  and  evil  thoughts 
are  recalled,  and  sometimes  hate  made  to  inflame 
and  fester ;  when  problems  are  solved,  riddles 
guessed,  and  things  made  apparent  in  the  dark, 
which  day  refused  to  reveal.  Our  nights  are  the 
keys  to  our  days.  They  explain  them.  They  are 
also  the  day's  correctors.  Night's  leisure  untangles 
the  mistakes  of  day's  haste.  We  should  not  at- 
tempt to  comprise  our  pasts  in  the  phrase,  "  in 
those  days  ;  "  we  should  rather  say  "  in  those  days 
and  nights." 

That  night  was  a  long-remembered  one  to  the 
apothecary  of  the  rue  Royale.  But  it  was  after  he 
had  closed  his  shop,  and  in  his  back  room  sat 
pondering  the  unusual  experiences  of  the  evening, 
that  it  began  to  be,  in  a  higher  degree,  a  night 
of  events  to  most  of  those  persons  who  had  a 
part    in  its   earlier  incidents. 

That  Honore  Grandissime  whom  Frowenfeld  had 


That  Night  129 

only  this  day  learned  to  know  as  the  Honore 
Grandissime  and  the  young  governor-general  were 
closeted  together. 

"  What  can  you  expect,  my-de'-seh  ?  "  the  Creole 
was  asking,  as  they  confronted  each  other  in  the 
smoke  of  their  choice  tobacco.  "  Remember,  they 
are  citizens  by  compulsion.  You  say  your  best  and 
wisest  law  is  that  one  prohibiting  the  slave-trade  ; 
my-de'-seh,  I  assure  you,  privately,  I  agree  with 
you ;  but  they  abhor  your  law  ! 

"Your  principal  danger — at  least,  I  mean  dif- 
ficulty—  is  this:  that  the  Louisianais  themselves, 
some  in  pure  lawlessness,  some  through  loss  of 
office,  some  in  a  vague  hope  of  preserving  the  old 
condition  of  things,  will  not  only  hold  off  from 
all  participation  in  your  government,  but  will  make 
all  sympathy  with  it,  all  advocacy  of  its  principles, 
and  especially  all  office-holding  under  it,  odious  — 
disreputable — infamous.  You  may  find  yourself 
constrained  to  fill  vour  offices  with  men  who  can 
face  down  the  contumely  of  a  whole  people.  You 
know  what  such  men  generally  are.  One  out  of  a 
hundred  may  be  a  moral  hero  —  the  ninety-nine 
will  be  scamps  ;  and  the  moral  hero  will  most  likely 
get  his  brains  blown  out  early  in  the  day. 

"Count  O'Reilly,  when  he  established  the  Spanish 
power  here  thirty-five  years  ago,  cut  a  similar  knot 
with  the  executioner's  sword ;  but,  my-de'-seh,  you 
are  here  to  establish  a  free  government ;  and  how 
can  you  make  it  freer  than  the  people  wish  it  ? 
There  is  your  riddle !  They  hold  off  and  say, 
9 


i3o 


The  Grandissimes 


'  Make  your  government  as  free  as  you  can,  but 
do  not  ask  us  to  help  you ;  '  and  before  you  know 
it  you  have  no  retainers  but  a  gang  of  shameless 
mercenaries,  who  will  desert  you  whenever  the 
indignation  of  this  people  overbalances  their  in- 
dolence ;  and  you  will  fall  the  victim  of  what  you 
may  call   our  mutinous   patriotism." 

The  governor  made  a  very  quiet,  unappreciative 
remark  about  a  "  patriotism  that  lets  its  government 
get  choked  up  with  corruption  and  then  blows  it 
out  with  gunpowder  !  " 

The  Creole  shrugged. 

"And  repeats  the  operation  indefinitely,"  he  said. 

The  governor  said  something  often  heard,  before 
and  since,  to  the  effect  that  communities  will  not 
sacrifice  themselves  for  mere  ideas. 

"  My-de'-seh,"  replied  the  Creole,  "  you  speak 
like  a  true  Anglo-Saxon  ;  but,  sir  !  how  many  com- 
munities have  committed  suicide.  And  this  one  ?  — 
why,  it  is  just  the  kind  to  do  it  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  governor,  smilingly,  "  you  have 
pointed  out  what  you  consider  to  be  the  breakers, 
now  can  you  point  out  the  channel  ?  " 

"  Channel  ?  There  is  none !  And  you,  nor  I, 
cannot  dig  one.  Two  great  forces  may  ultimately 
do  it,  Religion  and  Education  —  as  I  was  telling 
you  I  said  to  my  young  friend,  the  apothecary, — 
but  still  I  am  free  to  say  what  would  be  my  first 
and  principal  step,  if  I  was  in  your  place  —  as  I 
thank  God  I  am  not." 

The  listener  asked  him  what  that  was. 


That  Night  i  3  1 

"  Wherever  I  could  find  a  Creole  that  I  could 
venture  to  trust,  my-de'-seh,  I  would  put  him  in 
office.  Never  mind  a  little  political  heterodoxy, 
you  know;  almost  any  man  can  be  trusted  to  shoot 
away  from  the  uniform  he  has  on.     And  then " 

"  But,"  said  the  other,  "  I  have  offered  you " 

"Oh  !"  replied  the  Creole,  like  a  true  merchant, 
"me,  I  am  too  busy  ;  it  is  impossible  !  But,  I  say, 
I  would  compel,  my-de'-seh,  this  people  to  govern 
themselves  !  " 

"  And  pray,  how  would  you  give  a  people  a  free 
government  and  then  compel  them  to  administer 
it  ? " 

"  My-de'-seh,  you  should  not  give  one  poor 
Creole  the  puzzle  which  belongs  to  your  whole 
Congress ;  but  you  may  depend  on  this,  that  the 
worst  thing  for  all  parties  —  and  I  say  it  only 
because  it  is  worst  for  all  —  would  be  a  feeble  and 
dilatory  punishment  of  bad  faith." 

When  this  interview  finally  drew  to  a  close  the 
governor  had  made  a  memorandum  of  some  fifteen 
or  twenty  Grandissimes,  scattered  through  different 
cantons  of  Louisiana,  who,  their  kinsman  Honore 
thought,  would  not  decline  appointments. 

Certain  of  the  Muses  were  abroad  that  night. 
Faintly  audible  to  the  apothecary  of  the  rue  Royale 
through  that  deserted  stillness  which  is  yet  the 
marked  peculiarity  of  New  Orleans  streets  by  night, 
came  from  a  neighboring  slave-yard  the  monotonous 
chant   and    machine-like    tune-beat    of  an    African 


132  The  Grandissimes 

dance.  There  our  lately  met  marchande  (albeit  she 
was  but  a  guest,  fortified  against  the  street-watch 
with  her  master's  written  "  pass  ")  led  the  ancient 
Calinda  dance  with  that  well-known  song  of  derision, 
in  whose  ever  multiplying  stanzas  the  helpless  satire 
of  a  feeble  race  still  continues  to  celebrate  the  per- 
sonal failings  of  each  newly  prominent  figure  among 
the  dominant  caste.  There  was  a  new  distich  to 
the  song  to-night,  signifying  that  the  pride  of  the 
Grandissimes  must  find  his  friends  now  among  the 
Yankees  : 

"  Mich(5  Hon'r<§,  alte  !  h-alte  ! 
Trouv6  to  zamis  parmi  les  Yankis. 

Danc6  calinda,  bou-joum  !  bou-joum  ! 

Dancd  calinda,  bou-joum  !  bou-joum  ! 

Frowenfeld,  as  we  have  already  said,  had  closed 
his  shop,  and  was  sitting  in  the  room  behind  it  with 
one  arm  on  his  table  and  the  other  on  his  celestial 
globe,  watching  the  flicker  of  his  small  fire  and 
musing  upon  the  unusual  experiences  of  the  even- 
ing. Upon  every  side  there  seemed  to  start  away 
from  his  turning  glance  the  multiplied  shadows  of 
something  wrong.  The  melancholy  face  of  that 
Honore  Grandissime,  his  landlord,  at  whose  men- 
tion Dr.  Keene  had  thought  it  fair  to  laugh  without 
explaining;  the  tall,  bright-eyed  milatraisse ;  old 
Agricola  ;  the  lady  of  the  basil ;  the  newly  identified 
merchant  friend,  now  the  more  satisfactory  Honore, 
—  they  all  came  before  him  in  his  meditation,  pro- 
voking among  themselves  a  certain  discord,  faint 
but  persistent,  to  which  he  strove  to  close  his  ear. 


That  Night  i  3  3 

For  he  was  brain-weary.  Even  in  the  bright  recol- 
lection of  the  lady  and  her  talk,  he  became  involved 
among  shadows,  and  going  from  bad  to  worse, 
seemed  at  length  almost  to  gasp  in  an  atmosphere 
of  hints,  allusions,  faint  unspoken  admissions,  ill- 
concealed  antipathies,  unfinished  speeches,  mistaken 
identities  and  whisperings  of  hidden  strife.  The 
cathedral  clock  struck  twelve  and  was  answered 
again  from  the  convent  belfry ;  and  as  the  notes 
died  away  he  suddenly  became  aware  that  the  weird, 
drowsy  throb  of  the  African  song  and  dance  had 
been  swinging  drowsily  in  his  brain  for  an  unknown 
lapse  of  time. 

The  apothecary  nodded  once  or  twice,  and  there- 
upon rose  up  and  prepared  for  bed,  thinking  to 
sleep  till  morning. 

Aurora  and  her  daughter  had  long  ago  put  out 
their  chamber  light.  Early  in  the  evening  the 
younger  had  made  favorable  mention  of  retiring,  to 
which  the  elder  replied  by  asking  to  be  left  awhile 
to  her  own  thoughts.  Clotilde,  after  some  tender 
protestations,  consented,  and  passed  through  the 
open  door  that  showed,  beyond  it,  their  couch. 
The  air  had  grown  just  cool  and  humid  enough  to 
make  the  warmth  of  one  small  brand  on  the  hearth 
acceptable,  and  before  this  the  fair  widow  settled 
herself  to  gaze  beyond  her  tiny,  slippered  feet  into 
its  wavering  flame,  and  think.  Her  thoughts  were 
such  as  to  bestow  upon  her  face  that  enhancement 
of  beauty   that   comes   of  pleasant  reverie,  and   to 


J34 


The  Grandissimes 


make  it  certain  that  that  little  city  afforded  no  fairer 
sight,  —  unless,  indeed,  it  was  the  figure  of  Clotilde 
just  beyond  the  open  door,  as  in  her  white  night- 
dress, enriched  with  the  work  of  a  diligent  needle, 
she  knelt  upon  the  low  prie-Dieu  before  the  little 
family  altar,  and  committed  her  pure  soul  to  the 
Divine  keeping. 

Clotilde  could  not  have  been  many  minutes  asleep 
when  Aurora  changed  her  mind  and  decided  to  fol- 
low. The  shade  upon  her  face  had  deepened  for  a 
moment  into  a  look  of  trouble  ;  but  a  bright  philos- 
ophy, which  was  part  of  her  paternal  birthright, 
quickly  chased  it  away,  and  she  passed  to  her  room, 
disrobed,  lay  softly  down  beside  the  beauty  already 
there  and  smiled  herself  to  sleep, — 

"  Blinded  alike  from  sunshine  and  from  rain, 
As  though  a  rose  should  shut,  and  be  a  bud  again." 

But  she  also  wakened  again,  and  lay  beside  her 
unconscious  bedmate,  occupied  with  the  company 
of  her  own  thoughts.  "  Why  should  these  little 
concealments  ruffle  my  bosom  ?  Does  not  even 
Nature  herself  practise  wiles  ?  Look  at  the  inno- 
cent birds ;  do  they  build  where  everybody  can 
count  their  eggs  ?  And  shall  a  poor  human  crea- 
ture try  to  be  better  than  a  bird  ?  Did  n't  I  say 
my  prayers  under  the  blanket  just  now  ?  " 

Her  companion  stirred  in  her  sleep,  and  she  rose 
upon  one  elbow  to  bend  upon  the  sleeper  a  gaze  of 
ardent  admiration.  "  Ah,  beautiful  little  chick  !  how 
guileless  !    indeed,   how  deficient  in   that  respect !  " 


That  Night  135 

She  sat  up  in  the  bed  and  hearkened ;  the  bell 
struck  for  midnight.  Was  that  the  hour  ?  The 
fates  were  smiling!  Surely  M.  Assonquer  himself 
must  have  wakened  her  to  so  choice  an  opportunity. 
She  ought  not  to  despise  it.  Now,  by  the  applica- 
tion of  another  and  easily  wrought  charm,  that  dark- 
ened hour  lately  spent  with  Palmyre  would  have,  as 
it  were,  its  colors  set. 

The  night  had  grown  much  cooler.  Stealthily, 
bv  degrees,  she  rose  and  left  the  couch.  The  open- 
ings of  the  room  were  a  window  and  two  doors,  and 
these,  with  much  caution,  she  contrived  to  open 
without  noise.  None  of  them  exposed  her  to  the 
possibility  of  public  view.  One  door  looked  into 
the  dim  front  room  ;  the  window  let  in  only  a  flood 
of  moonlight  over  the  top  of  a  high  house  which 
was  without  openings  on  that  side ;  the  other  door 
revealed  a  weed-grown  back  yard,  and  that  invalu- 
able protector,  the  cook's  hound,  lying  fast  asleep. 

In  her  night-clothes  as  she  was,  she  stood  a 
moment  in  the  centre  of  the  chamber,  then  sank 
upon  one  knee,  rapped  the  floor  gently  but  audibly 
thrice,  rose,  drew  a  step  backward,  sank  upon  the 
other  knee,  rapped  thrice,  rose  again,  stepped  back- 
ward, knelt  the  third  time,  the  third  time  rapped, 
and  then,  rising,  murmured  a  vow  to  pour  upon  the 
ground  next  dav  an  oblation  of  champagne — then 
closed  the  doors  and  window  and  crept  back  to  bed. 
Then  she  knew  how  cold  she  had  become.  It 
seemed  as  though  her  very  marrow  was  frozen.  She 
was    seized  with    such  an  uncontrollable    shivering 


136  The  Grandissimes 

that  Clotilde  presently  opened  her  eyes,  threw  her 
arm  about  her  mother's  neck,  and  said : 

"Ah  !  my  sweet  mother,  are  you  so  cold  ?  " 
"  The  blanket  was  all  off  of  me,"  said  the  mother, 
returning  the  embrace,  and  the  two  sank  into  uncon- 
sciousness together. 

Into  slumber  sank  almost  at  the  same  moment 
Joseph  Frowenfeld.  He  awoke,  not  a  great  while 
later,  to  find  himself  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor.  Three  or  four  men  had  shouted  at  once, 
and  three  pistol-shots,  almost  in  one  instant,  had 
resounded  just  outside  his  shop.  He  had  barely 
time  to  throw  himself  into  half  his  garments  when 
the  knocker  sounded  on  his  street  door,  and  when 
he  opened  it  Agricola  Fusilier  entered,  supported 
by  his  nephew  Honore  on  one  side  and  Doctor 
Keene  on  the  other.  The  latter's  right  hand  was 
pressed  hard  against  a  bloody  place  in  Agricola's  side. 

"  Give  us  plenty  of  light,  Frowenfeld,"  said  the 
doctor,  "and  a  chair  and  some  lint,  and  some  Castile 
soap,  and  some  towels  and  sticking-plaster,  and  any- 
thing else  you  can  think  of.  Agricola's  about 
scared  to  death " 

"  Professor  Frowenfeld,"  groaned  the  aged  citizen, 
"  I  am  basely  and  mortally  stabbed  ! " 

"  Right  on,  Frowenfeld,"  continued  the  doctor, 
"  right  on  into  the  back  room.  Fasten  that  front 
door.  Here,  Agricola,  sit  down  here.  That's 
right,  Frow.,  stir  up  a  little  fire.  Give  me  —  never 
mind,  I  '11  just  cut  the  cloth  open." 


That  Night  137 

There  was  a  moment  of  silent  suspense  while  the 
wound  was  being  reached,  and  then  the  doctor 
spoke  again. 

"Just  as  I  thought;  only  a  safe  and  comfortable 
gash  that  will  keep  you  in-doors  a  while  with  your 
arm  in  a  sling.  You  are  more  scared  than  hurt,  I 
think,  old  gentleman." 

"  You  think  an  infernal  falsehood,  sir  !  " 

"  See  here,  sir,"  said  the  doctor,  without  ceasing 
to  ply  his  dexterous  hands  in  his  art,  "  I  '11  jab  these 
scissors  into  your  back  if  you  say  that  again." 

"I  suppose,"  growled  the  "citizen,"  "it  is  just 
the  thing  your  professional  researches  have  qualified 
you  for,  sir  !  " 

"Just  stand  here,  Mr.  Frowenfeld,"  said  the  little 
doctor,  settling  down  to  a  professional  tone,  "  and 
hand  me  things  as  I  ask  for  them.  Honore,  please 
hold  this  arm ;  so."  And  so,  after  a  moderate 
lapse  of  time,  the  treatment  that  medical  science  of 
those  days  dictated  was  applied — whatever  that  was. 
Let  those  who  do  not  know  give  thanks. 

M.  Grandissime  explained  to  Frowenfeld  what 
had  occurred. 

"  You  see,  I  succeeded  in  meeting  my  uncle,  and 
we  went  together  to  my  office.  My  uncle  keeps 
his  accounts  with  me.  Sometimes  we  look  them 
over.  We  stayed  until  midnight ;  I  dismissed  my 
carriage.  As  we  walked  homeward  we  met  some 
friends  coming  out  of  the  rooms  of  the  Bagatelle 
Club ;  five  or  six  of  my  uncles  and  cousins,  and 
also  Doctor  Keene.     We  all  fell  a-talking  of  my 


138  The  Grandissimes 

grandfather's  fete  de  grandpere  of  next  month,  and 
went  to  have  some  coffee.  When  we  separated, 
and  my  uncle  and  my  cousin  Achille  Grandissime 
and  Doctor  Keene  and  myself  came  down  Royal 
street,  out  from  that  dark  alley  behind  your  shop 
jumped  a  little  man  and  stuck  my  uncle  with  a  knife. 
If  I  had  not  caught  his  arm  he  would  have  killed 
my  uncle." 

"  And  he  escaped,"  said  the  apothecary. 

"  No,  sir  !  "  said  Agricola,  with  his  back  turned. 

"  I  think  he  did.      I  do  not  think  he  was  struck." 

"  And  Mr. ,  your  cousin  ?  " 

"  Achille  ?     I  have  sent  him  for  a  carriage." 

"  Why,  Agricola,"  said  the  doctor,  snipping  the 
loose  ravellings  from  his  patient's  bandages,  "  an 
old  man   like  you   should  not  have  enemies." 

"  I  am  not  an  old  man,  sir  !  " 

"  I  said  young  man." 

"  I  am  not  a  young  man,  sir  !  " 

"  I  wonder  who  the  fellow  was,"  continued 
Doctor  Keene,  as  he  readjusted  the  ripped  sleeve. 

"That  is  my  affair,  sir ;   I  know  who  it  was." 

"And  yet  she  insists,"  M.  Grandissime  was  ask- 
ing Frowenfeld,  standing  with  his  leg  thrown  across 
the  celestial  globe,  "  that  I  knocked  her  down 
intentionally  ?  " 

Frowenfeld,  about  to  answer,  was  interrupted  by 
a  rap  on  the  door. 

"  That  is  my  cousin,  with  the  carriage,"  said  M. 
Grandissime,  following  the  apothecary  into  the  shop. 


That  Night  139 

Frowenfeld  opened  to  a  young  man,  —  a  rather 
poor  specimen  of  the  Grandissime  type,  deficient  in 
stature  but  not  in  stage  manner. 

"  Est  il  mart  ?  "  he  cried  at  the  threshold. 

"  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  let  me  make  you  acquainted 
with  my  cousin,  Achille  Grandissime." 

Mr.  Achille  Grandissime  gave  Frowenfeld  such  a 
bow  as  we  see  now  only  in  pictures. 

"  Ve'y  'appe  to  meek  yo'  acquaintenz  !  " 

Agricola  entered,  followed  by  the  doctor,  and 
demanded  in  indignant  thunder-tones,  as  he  entered  : 

"  Who  —  ordered  —  that  —  carriage  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  said  Honore.  "  Will  you  please  get 
into  it  at  once." 

"Ah!  dear  Honore!"  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
"always  too  kind  !      I  go  in  it  purely  to  please  you." 

Good-night  was  exchanged  ;  Honore  entered  the 
vehicle  and  Agricola  was  helped  in.  Achille 
touched  his  hat,  bowed  and  waved  his  hand  to 
Joseph,  and  shook  hands  with  the  doctor,  and 
saying,  "  Well,  good-night,  Doctor  Keene,"  he. 
shut  himself  out  of  the  shop  with  another  low  bow. 
"  Think  I  am  going  to  shake  hands  with  an  apoth- 
ecary ?  "  thought  M.  Achille. 

Doctor  Keene  had  refused  Honore's  invitation  to 
go  with  them. 

"  Frowenfeld,"  he  said,  as  he  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  shop  wiping  a  ring  with  a  towel  and  looking 
at  his  delicate,  freckled  hand,  "  I  propose,  before 
going  to  bed  with  you,  to  eat  some  of  your  bread 
and  cheese.     Are  n't  you  glad  ?  " 


140  The  Grandissimes 

"  I  shall  be,  Doctor,"  replied  the  apothecary,  "  if 
you  will  tell  me  what  all  this  means." 

"Indeed  I  will  not,  —  that  is,  not  to-night. 
What  ?  Why,  it  would  take  until  breakfast  to  tell 
what  '  all  this  means,'  —  the  story  of  that  pestiferous 
darky  Bras  Coupe,  with  the  rest  ?  Oh,  no,  sir.  I 
would  sooner  not  have  any  bread  and  cheese. 
What  on  earth  has  waked  your  curiosity  so  sud- 
denly, anyhow  ? " 

"  Have  you  any  idea  who  stabbed  Citizen  Fusi- 
lier ?"  was  Joseph's  response. 

"  Why,  at  first  I  thought  it  was  the  other  Honore 
Grandissime ;  but  when  I  saw  how  small  the  fellow 
was,  I  was  at  a  loss,  completely.  But,  whoever  it 
is,  he  has  my  bullet  in  him,  whatever  Honore  may 
think." 

"  Will  Mr.  Fusilier's  wound  give  him  much 
trouble  ?  "  asked  Joseph,  as  they  sat  down  to  a 
luncheon  at  the  fire. 

"  Hardly ;  he  has  too  much  of  the  blood  of 
Lufki-Humma  in  him.  But  I  need  not  say  that; 
for  the  Grandissime  blood  is  just  as  strong.  A 
wonderful  family,  those  Grandissimes  !  They  are 
an  old,  illustrious  line,  and  the  strength  that  was 
once  in  the  intellect  and  will  is  going  down  into  the 
muscles.  I  have  an  idea  that  their  greatness  began, 
hundreds  of  years  ago,  in  ponderosity  of  arm,  —  of 
frame,  say,  —  and  developed  from  generation  to 
generation,  in  a  rising  scale,  first  into  fineness  of 
sinew,  then,  we  will  say,  into  force  of  will,  then  into 
power  of  mind,  then  into  subtleties  of  genius.    Now 


That  Night  141 

they  are  going  back  down  the  incline.  Look  at 
Honore  ;  he  is  high  up  on  the  scale,  intellectual  and 
sagacious.  But  look  at  him  physically,  too.  What 
an  exquisite  mold  !  What  compact  strength  !  I 
should  not  wonder  if  he  gets  that  from  the  Indian 
Oueen.  What  endurance  he  has  !  He  will  prob- 
ably go  to  his  business  by  and  by  and  not  see  his  bed 
for  seventeen  or  eighteen  hours.  He  is  the  flower 
of  the  family,  and  possibly  the  last  one.  Now, 
old  Agricola  shows  the  down-_^gflr^  ,  ward  grade 
better.  Seventy-five,  it  he  is  a  Tr^^P*^  day, with, 
maybe,  one-fourth  the  attain- 
pretends  to  have,  and  still  less 
sense;  but  strong  —  as  an  orang 
outang.    Shall  we  go  to  bed?" 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

NEW    LIGHT    UPON    DARK    PLACES 

HEN  the  long,  wakeful  night  was  over, 
and  the  doctor  gone,  Frowenfeld  seated 
himself  to  record  his  usual  observations 
of  the  weather ;  but  his  mind  was  else- 
where — ■  here,  there,  yonder.  There  are  under- 
standings that  expand,  not  imperceptibly  hour  by 
hour,  but  as  certain  flowers  do,  by  little  explosive 
ruptures,  with  periods  of  quiescence  between.  After 
this  night  of  experiences  it  was  natural  that  Frowen- 
feld should  find  the  circumference  of  his  perceptions 
consciously  enlarged.  The  daylight  shone,  not  into 
his  shop  alone,  but  into  his  heart  as  well.  The  face 
of  Aurora,  which  had  been  the  dawn  to  him  before, 
was  now  a  perfect  sunrise,  while  in  pleasant  time- 
liness   had    come    in    this     Apollo    of    a    Honore 


144  The  Grandissimes 

Grandissime.  The  young  immigrant  was  dazzled. 
He  felt  a  longing  to  rise  up  and  run  forward  in 
this  flood  of  beams.  He  was  unconscious  of 
fatigue,  or  nearly  so  —  would  have  been  wholly 
so  but  for  the  return  by  and  by  of  that  same 
dim  shadow,  or  shadows,  still  rising  and  darting 
across  every  motion  of  the  fancy  that  grouped 
again  the  actors  in  last  night's  scenes  ;  not  such 
shadows  as  naturally  go  with  sunlight  to  make  it 
seem  brighter,  but  a  something  which  qualified  the 
light's  perfection  and  the  air's  freshness. 

Wherefore,  resolved  :  that  he  would  compound 
his  life,  from  this  time  forward,  by  a  new  formula  : 
books,  so  much  ;  observation,  so  much  ;  social  in- 
tercourse, so  much;  love  —  as  to  that,  time  enough 
for  that  in  the  future  (if  he  was  in  love  with  any- 
body, he  certainly  did  not  know  it) ;  of  love,  there- 
fore, amount  not  yet  necessary  to  state,  but 
probably  (when  it  should  be  introduced),  in  the 
generous  proportion  in  which  physicians  prescribe 
aqua.  Resolved,  in  other  words,  without  ceasing 
to  be  Frowenfeld  the  studious,  to  begin  at  once  the 
perusal  of  this  newly  found  book,  the  Community 
of  New  Orleans.  True,  he  knew  he  should  find 
it  a  difficult  task  —  not  only  that  much  of  it  was 
in  a  strange  tongue,  but  that  it  was  a  volume  whose 
displaced  leaves  would  have  to  be  lifted  tenderly, 
blown  free  of  much  dust,  re-arranged,  some  torn 
fragments  laid  together  again  with  much  painstak- 
ing, and  even  the  purport  of  some  pages  guessed 
out.     Obviously,   the   place    to    commence    at  was 


New  Light  upon  Dark  Places         145 

that  brightly  illuminated  title-page,  the  ladies 
Nancanou. 

As  the  sun  rose  and  diffused  its  beams  in  an 
atmosphere  whose  temperature  had  just  been  re- 
corded as  50°  F.,  the  apothecary  stepped  half  out 
of  his  shop-door  to  face  the  bracing  air  that  came 
blowing  upon  his  tired  forehead  from  the  north. 
As  he  did  so,  he  said  to  himself: 

"  How  are  these  two  Honore  Grandissimes  re- 
lated to  each  other,  and  why  should  one  be  thought 
capable  of  attempting  the  life  of  Agricola  ?  " 

The  answer  was  on  its  way  to  him. 

There  is  left  to  our  eyes  but  a  poor  vestige  of 
the  picturesque  view  presented  to  those  who  looked 
down  the  rue  Royale  before  the  garish  day  that 
changed  the  rue  Enghien  into  Ingine  street,  and 
dropped  the  'e'  from  Royale.  It  was  a  long,  nar- 
rowing perspective  of  arcades,  lattices,  balconies, 
zaguans,  dormer  windows,  and  blue  sky  —  of  low, 
tiled  roofs,  red  and  wrinkled,  huddled  down  into 
their  own  shadows;  of  canvas  awnings  with  flutter- 
ing borders,  and  of  grimy  lamp-posts  twenty  feet 
in  height,  each  reaching  out  a  gaunt  iron  arm  over 
the  narrow  street  and  dangling  a  lamp  from  its  end. 
The  human  life  which  dotted  the  view  displayed  a 
variety  of  tints  and  costumes  such  as  a  painter 
would  be  glad  to  take  just  as  he  found  them :  the 
gayly  feathered  Indian,  the  slashed  and  tinselled 
Mexican,  the  leather-breeched  raftsmen,  the  blue- 
or  yellow-turbaned  negresse,  the  sugar-planter  in 
white  flannel  and  moccasins,  the  average  townsman 


146  The  Grandissimes 

in  the  last  suit  of  clothes  of  the  lately  deceased 
century,  and  now  and  then  a  fashionable  man  in 
that  costume  whose  union  of  tight-buttoned  mar- 
tial severity,  swathed  throat,  and  effeminate  super- 
abundance of  fine  linen  seemed  to  offer  a  sort  of 
state's  evidence  against  the  pompous  tyrannies  and 
frivolities  of  the  times. 

The  marchande  des  calas  was  out.  She  came  to- 
ward Joseph's  shop,  singing  in  a  high-pitched  nasal 
tone  this  new  song  : 

"  De  'tit  zozos  —  ye  te  assis  — 
De  'tit  zozos  —  si  la  barrier. 
De  'tit  zozos,  qui  zabotte  ; 
Qui  9a  ye  di'  mo  pas  conne. 

"  Manzeur-poulet  vini  simin, 
Croupe  si  ye  et  croque  ye  ; 
Personn'  pli'  'tend'  ye  zabotte  — 
De  'tit  zozos  si  la  barrier." 

"  You  lak  dat  song  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  chuckle, 
as  she  let  down  from  her  turbaned  head  a  flat 
Indian  basket  of  warm  rice  cakes. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

She  laughed  again  —  more  than  the  questioner 
could  see  occasion  for. 

"  Dat  mean  —  two  lill  birds ;  dey  was  sittin'  on 
de  fence  an'  gabblin'  togeddah,  you  know,  lak  you 
see  two  young  gals  sometime',  an'  you  can't  mek 
out  w'at  dey  sayin',  even  ef  dey  know  demself  ? 
H-ya  !  Chicken-hawk  come  'long  dat  road  an'  jes' 
set  down  an'  munch  'em,  an'  nobody  can't  no  mo' 
hea'  deir  lill  gabblin'  on  de  fence,  you  know." 


New  Light  upon  Dark  Places         147 

Here  she  laughed  again. 

Joseph  looked  at  her  with  severe  suspicion,  but 
she  found  refuge   in   benevolence. 

"  Honey,  you  ought  to  be  asleep  dis  werry  minit ; 
look  lak  folks  been  a-worr'in'  you.  I  's  gwine  to 
pick  out  de  werry  bes'  calas  I 's  got  for  you." 

As  she  delivered  them  she  courtesied,  first  to 
Joseph  and  then,  lower  and  with  hushed  gravity, 
to  a  person  who  passed  into  the  shop  behind  him, 
bowing  and  murmuring  politely  as  he  passed.  She 
followed  the  new-comerwith  her  eyes,  hastily  accepted 
the  price  of  the  cakes,  whispered,  "  Dat  's  my  maws- 
tah,"  lifted  her  basket  to  her  head  and  went  away. 
Her  master  was  Frowenfeld's  landlord. 

Frowenfeld  entered  after  him,  calas  in  hand,  and 
with  a  grave  "  Good-morning,  sir." 

" m'sieu',"   responded  the  landlord,  with  a 

low  bow. 

Frowenfeld  waited  in  silence. 

The  landlord  hesitated,  looked  around  him, 
seemed  about  to  speak,  smiled,  and  said,  in  his  soft, 
solemn  voice,  feeling  his  way  word  by  word  through 
the  unfamiliar  language : 

"  Ah  lag  to  teg  you  apar'." 

"  See  me  alone  ?  " 

The  landlord  recognized  his  error  by  a  fleeting 
smile. 

"  Alone,"  said  he. 

"  Shall  we  go  into  my  room  ?  " 

"  S'il  vous  plait,  m'sieu." 

Frowenfeld's     breakfast,    furnished     by    contract 


148  The  Grandissimes 

from  a  neighboring  kitchen,  stood  on  the  table. 
It  was  a  frugal  one,  but  more  comfortable  than  for- 
merly, and  included  coffee,  that  subject  of  just  pride 
in  Creole  cookery.  Joseph  deposited  his  calas  with 
these  things  and  made  haste  to  produce  a  chair, 
which  his  visitor,  as  usual,  declined. 

"  Idd  you'  bregfuz,  m'sieu'." 

"I  can  do  that  afterward,"  said  Frowenfeld ;  but 
the  landlord  insisted  and  turned  away  from  him  to 
look  up  at  the  books  on  the  wall,  precisely  as  that 
other  of  the  same  name  had  done  a  few  weeks 
before. 

Frowenfeld,   as  he  broke  his   loaf,   noticed  this, 
and,  as  the  landlord  turned  his  face  to  speak,  won 
dered   that  he   had   not  before   seen    the    common 
likeness. 

"  Dez  stog,"  said  the  sombre  man. 

"  What,  sir  ?  Oh!  —  dead  stock  ?  But  how  can 
the  materials  of  an  education  be  dead  stock  ?  " 

The  landlord  shrugged.  He  would  not  argue 
the  point.  One  American  trait  which  the  Creole 
is  never  entirely  ready  to  encounter  is  this  gratui- 
tous Yankee  way  of  going  straight  to  the  root  of 
things. 

"  Dead  stock  in  a  mercantile  sense,  you  mean," 
continued  the  apothecary ;  "  but  are  men  right  in 
measuring  such  things  only  by  their  present  market 
value  ?  " 

The  landlord  had  no  reply.  It  was  little  to  him, 
his  manner  intimated ;  his  contemplation  dwelt  on 
deeper  flaws  in  human  right  and  wrong ;  yet —  but 


New  Light  upon  Dark  Places         149 

it  was  needless  to  discuss  it.  However,  he  did 
speak. 

"  Ah  was  elevade  in  Pariz." 

"  Educated  in  Paris,"  exclaimed  Joseph,  admir- 
ingly. "  Then  you  certainly  cannot  find  your  edu- 
cation dead  stock." 

The  grave,  not  amused,  smile  which  was  the 
landlord's  only  rejoinder,  though  perfecdy  courte- 
ous, intimated  that  his  tenant  was  sailing  over 
depths  of  the  question  that  he  was  little  aware  of. 
But  the  smile  in  a  moment  gave  way  for  the  look 
of  one  who  was  engrossed  with  another  subject. 

"  M'sieu',"  he  began ;  but  just  then  Joseph 
made  an  apologetic  gesture  and  went  forward  to 
wait  upon  an  inquirer  after  "  Godfrey's  Cordial ;  " 
for  that  comforter  was  known  to  be  obtainable  at 
"  Frowenfeld's."  The  business  of  the  American 
drug-store  was  daily  increasing.  When  Frowen- 
feld  returned  his  landlord  stood  ready  to  address 
him,  with  the  air  of  having  decided  to  make  short 
of  a  matter. 

"  M'sieu' " 

"  Have  a  seat,  sir,"  urged  the  apothecary. 

His  visitor  again  declined,  with  his  uniform  mel- 
ancholy grace.      He  drew  close  to  Frowenfeld. 

"  Ah  wand  you  mague  me  one  ouangan"  he  said. 

Joseph  shook  his  head.  He  remembered  Doc- 
tor Keene's  expressed  suspicion  concerning  the 
assault  of  the  night  before. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir ;  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  You  know." 


1 50  The  Grandissimes 

The  landlord  offered  a  heavy,  persuading  smile. 

"An  unguent?  Is  that  what  you  mean  —  an 
ointment? " 

"  M'sieu',''  said  the  applicant,  with  a  not-to-be- 
deceived  expression,  "  vous  etes  astrologue — magi- 
cien " 

"God  forbid!" 

The  landlord  was  grossly  incredulous. 

"  You  godd  one  '  P'tit  Albert.'  " 

He  dropped  his  forefinger  upon  an  iron-clasped 
book  on  the  table,  whose  title  much  use  had  effaced. 

"  That  is  the  Bible.  I  do  not  know  what  the 
Tee  Albare  is  !  " 

Frowenfeld  darted  an  aroused  glance  into  the 
ever-courteous  eyes  of  his  visitor,  who  said  without 
a  motion  : 

"  You  di'  n't  gave  Agricola  Fusilier  une  ouangan, 
la  nuit  passe?  " 

"  Sir  ?  " 

"  Ee  was  yeh  ?  —  laz  nighd?  " 

"  Mr.  Fusilier  was  here  last  night  —  yes.  He  had 
been  attacked  by  an  assassin  and  slightly  wounded. 
He  was  accompanied  by  his  nephew,  who,  I  sup- 
pose, is  your  cousin :  he  has  the  same  name." 

Frowenfeld,  hoping  he  had  changed  the  subject, 
concluded  with  a  propitiatory  smile,  which,  how- 
ever, was  not  reflected. 

"  Ma  bruzzah,"  said  the  visitor. 

"  Your  brother  !  " 

"  Ma  whide  bruzzah  ;  ah  ham  nod  whide, 
m'sieu'." 


New  Light  upon  Dark  Places         i  j  i 

Joseph  said  nothing.  He  was  too  much  awed 
to  speak ;  the  ejaculation  that  started  toward  his 
lips  turned  back  and  rushed  into  his  heart,  and  it 
was  the  quadroon  who,  after  a  moment,  broke  the 
silence: 

"  Ah  ham  de  holdez  son  of  Numa  Grandissime." 

"Yes  —  yes,"  said  Frowenfeld,  as  if  he  would 
wave  away  something  terrible. 

"  Nod  sell  me  —  ouangan  ?  "  asked  the  landlord, 
again. 

"  Sir,"  exclaimed  Frowenfeld,  taking  a  step  back- 
ward, "  pardon  me  if  I  offend  you  ;  that  mixture 
of  blood  which  draws  upon  you  the  scorn  of  this 
community  is  to  me  nothing  —  nothing  !  And 
every  invidious  distinction  made  against  you  on 
that  account  I  despise  !  But,  sir,  whatever  may  be 
either  your  private  wrongs,  or  the  wrongs  you 
suffer  in  common  with  your  class,  if  you  have  it 
in  your  mind  to  employ  any  manner  of  secret  art 
against  the  interests  or  person  of  any  one " 

The  landlord  was  making  silent  protestations, 
and  his  tenant,  lost  in  a  wilderness  of  indignant 
emotions,   stopped. 

"  M'sieu',"  began  the  quadroon,  but  ceased  and 
stood  with  an  expression  of  annoyance  every  mo- 
ment deepening  on  his  face,  until  he  finally  shook 
his  head  slowly,  and  said  with  a  baffled  smile  :  "  Ah 
can  nod  spig  Engliss." 

"  Write  it,"  said  Frowenfeld,  lifting  forward  a 
chair. 

The  landlord,  for  the  first  time  in  their  acquaint- 


*52 


The  Grandissimes 


ance,  accepted  a  seat,  bowing  low  as  he  did  so,  with 
a  demonstration  of  profound  gratitude  that  just 
perceptibly  heightened  his  even  dignity.  Paper, 
quills,  and  ink  were  handed  down  from  a  shelf  and 
Joseph  retired  into  the  shop. 

Honore  Grandissime,  f.  m.  c.  (these  initials  could 
hardly  have  come  into  use  until  some  months  later, 
but  the  convenience  covers  the  sin  of  the  slight 
anachronism),  Honore  Grandissime,  free  man  of 
color,  entered  from  the  rear  room  so  silently  that 
Joseph  was  first  made  aware  of  his  presence  by  feel- 
ing him  at  his  elbow.  He  handed  the  apothecary 
but  a  few  words  in  time,  lest  we  misjudge. 

The  father  of  the  two  Honores  was  that  Numa 
Grandissime  —  that  mere  child  —  whom  the  Grand 
Marquis,  to  the  great  chagrin  of  the  De  Grapions, 
had  so  early  cadetted.  The  commission  seems  not 
to  have  been  thrown  away.  While  the  province 
was  still  in  first  hands,  Numa's  was  a  shining  name 
in  the  annals  of  Kerlerec's  unsatisfactory  Indian 
wars;  and  in  1768  (when  the  colonists,  ill-informed, 
inflammable,  and  long  ill-governed,  resisted  the 
transfer  of  Louisiana  to  Spain),  at  a  time  of  life 
when  most  young  men  absorb  all  the  political  ex- 
travagances of  their  day,  he  had  stood  by  the  side 
of  law  and  government,  though  the  popular  cry  was 
a  frenzied  one  for  "  liberty."  Moreover,  he  had 
held  back  his  whole  chafing  and  stamping  tribe 
from  a  precipice  of  disaster,  and  had  secured  valu- 
able   recognition   of  their    office-holding   capacities 


New  Light  upon  Dark  Places        153 

from  that  really  good  governor  and  princely  Irish- 
man whose  one  act  of  summary  vengeance  upon 
a  few  insurgent  office-coveters  has  branded  him  in 
history  as  Cruel  O'Reilly.  But  the  experience  of 
those  days  turned  Numa  gray,  and  withal  he  was 
not  satisfied  with  their  outcome.  In  the  midst  of 
the  struggle  he  had  weakened  in  one  manly  resolve 
—  against  his  will  he  married.  The  lady  was  a 
Fusilier,  Agricola's  sister,  a  person  of  rare  intelli- 
gence and  beauty,  whom,  from  early  childhood,  the 
secret  counsels  of  his  seniors  had  assigned  to  him. 
Despite  this,  he  had  said  he  would  never  marry  ; 
he  made,  he  said,  no  pretensions  to  severe  con- 
scientiousness, or  to  being  better  than  others,  but  — 
as  between  his  Maker  and  himself  —  he  had  for- 
feited the  right  to  wed,  they  all  knew  how.  But 
the  Fusiliers  had  become  very  angry  and  Numa, 
finding  strife  about  to  ensue  just  when  without 
unity  he  could  not  bring  an  undivided  clan  through 
the  torrent  of  the  revolution,  had  "  nobly  sacrificed 
a  little  sentimental  feeling,"  as  his  family  defined  it, 
by  breaking  faith  with  the  mother  of  the  man  now 
standing  at  Joseph  Frowenfeld's  elbow,  and  who 
was  then  a  little  toddling  boy.  It  was  necessary  to 
save  the  party  —  nay,  that  was  a  slip;  we  should 
say,  to  save  the  family;  this  is  not  a  parable.  Yet 
Numa  loved  his  wife.  She  bore  him  a  boy  and  a 
girl,  twins  ;  and  as  her  son  grew  in  physical,  intel- 
lectual, and  moral  symmetry,  he  indulged  the  hope 
that  —  the  ambition  and  pride  of  all  the  various 
Grandissimes  now  centering  in  this  lawful  son,  and  all 


*54 


The  Grandissimes 


strife  being  lulled — he  should  yet  see  this  Honore 
right  the  wrongs  which  he  had  not  quite  dared  to 
uproot.  And  Honore  inherited  the  hope  and 
began  to  make  it  an  intention  and  aim  even  before 
his  departure  (with  his  half-brother  the  other 
Honore)  for  school  in  Paris,  at  the  early  age  of 
fifteen.  Numa  soon  after  died,  and  Honore,  after 
various  fortunes  in  Paris,  London,  and  elsewhere, 
in  the  care,  or  at  least  company,  of  a  pious  uncle 
in  holy  orders,  returned  to  the  ancestral  mansion. 
The  father's  will  —  by  the  law  they  might  have  set 
it  aside,  but  that  was  not  their  way  —  left  the 
darker  Honore  the  bulk  of  his  fortune,  the  younger 
a  competency.  The  latter —  instead  of  taking  office, 
as  an  ancient  Grandissime  should  have  done  —  to 
the  dismay  and  mortification  of  his  kindred,  estab- 
lished himself  in  a  prosperous  commercial  business. 
The  elder  bought  houses  and  became  a  rentier. 

The  landlord  handed  the  apothecary  the  follow- 
ing writing: 

Mr.  Joseph  Frowenfeld  : 

Think  not  that  anybody  is  to  be  either  poisoned  by  me 
nor  yet  to  be  made  a  sufferer  by  the  exercise  of  anything 
by  me  of  the  character  of  what  is  generally  known  as 
grigri,  otherwise  magique.  This,  sir,  I  do  beg  your  per- 
mission to  offer  my  assurance  to  you  of  the  same.  Ah, 
no  !  it  is  not  for  that !  I  am  the  victim  of  another  en- 
tirely and  a  far  difFerente  and  dissimilar  passion,  i.  e.,  Love. 
Esteemed  sir,  speaking  or  writing  to  you  as  unto  the  only 
man  of  exclusively  white  blood  whom  I  believe  is  in  Louisi- 


New  Light  upon  Dark  Places        155 

ana  willing  to  do  my  dumb,  suffering  race  the  real  justice, 
I  love  Palmyre  la  Philosophe  with  a  madness  which  is  by 
the  human  lips  or  tongues  not  possible  to  be  exclaimed  (as, 
I  may  add,  that  I  have  in  the  same  like  manner  since  ex- 
actley  nine  years  and  seven  months  and  some  days).  Alas  ! 
heavens!  I  can't  help  it  in  the  least  particles  at  all! 
What,  what  shall  I  do,  for  ah  !  it  is  pitiful  !  She  loves 
me  not  at  all,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  is  (if  I  suspicion  not 
wrongfully)  wrapped  up  head  and  ears  in  devotion  of  one 
who  does  not  love  her,  either,  so  cold  and  incapable  of 
appreciation  is  he.      I  allude  to  Honore  Grandissime. 

Ah  !  well  do  I  remember  the  day  when  we  returned  — 
he  and  me  —  from  the  France.  She  was  there  when  we 
landed  on  that  levee,  she  was  among  that  throng  of  kin- 
dreds and  domestiques,  she  shind  like  the  evening  star  as 
she  stood  there  (it  was  the  first  time  I  saw  her,  but  she 
was  known  to  him  when  at  fifteen  he  left  his  home,  but 
I  resided  not  under  my  own  white  father's  roof — not  at 
all  —  far  from  that).  She  cried  out  '  A  la  fin  to  vini  !  " 
and  leap  herself  with  both  resplendant  arm  around  his  neck 
and  kist  him  twice  on  the  one  cheek  and  the  other,  and 
her  resplendant  eyes  shining  with  a  so  great  beauty. 

If  you  will  give  me  a  poudre  a" amour  such  as  I  doubt  not 
your  great  knowledge  enable  you  to  make  of  a  power  that 
cannot  to  be  resist,  while  still  at  the  same  time  of  a  harm- 
less character  toward  the  life  or  the  health  of  such  that 
I  shall  succeed  in  its  use  to  gain  the  affections  of  that 
emperice  of  my  soul,  I  hesitate  not  to  give  you  such  price 
as  it  may  please  you  to  nominate  up  as  high  as  to  $1,000 
—  nay,  more.      Sir,  will  you  do  that  ? 

I  have  the  honor  to  remain,  sir, 

Very  respectfully,  your  obedient  servant, 

H.  Grandissime. 


156  The  Grandissimes 

Frowenfeld  slowly  transferred  his  gaze  from  the 
paper  to  his  landlord's  face.  Dejection  and  hope 
struggled  with  each  other  in  the  gaze  that  was 
returned  ;  but  when  Joseph  said,  with  a  counte- 
nance full  of  pity,  "  I  have  no  power  to  help 
you,"  the  disappointed  lover  merely  looked  fix- 
edly for  a  moment  in  the  direction  of  the  street, 
then  lifted  his  hat  toward  his  head,  bowed,  and 
departed. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

ART    AND    COMMERCE 

It  was  some  two  or  three  days  after  the  interview 
just  related  that  the  apothecary  of  the  rue  Royale 
found  it  necessary  to  ask  a  friend  to  sit  in  the  shop 
a  few  minutes  while  he  should  go  on  a  short  errand. 
He  was  kept  away  somewhat  longer  than  he  had  in- 
tended to  stay,  for,  as  they  were  coming  out  of  the 
cathedral,  he  met  Aurora  and  Clotilde.  Both  the 
ladies  greeted  him  with  a  cordiality  which  was 
almost  inebriating,  Aurora  even  extending  her 
hand.  He  stood  but  a  moment,  responding  blush- 
ingly  to  two  or  three  trivial  questions  from  her ; 
yet  even  in  so  short  a  time,  and  although  Clotilde 
gave  ear  with  the  sweetest  smiles  and  loveliest 
changes  of  countenance,  he  experienced  a  lively 
renewal  of  a  conviction  that  this  young  lady  was 
most  unjustly  harboring  toward   him   a  vague   dis- 


Art  and  Commerce  157 

relish,  if  not  a  positive  distrust.  That  she  had 
some   mental   reservation  was  certain. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',"  said  Aurora,  as  he  raised  his 
hat  for  good-day,  "  you  din  come  home  yet." 

He  did  not  understand  until  he  had  crimsoned 
and  answered  he  knew  not  what  —  something  about 
having  intended  every  day.  He  felt  lifted  he  knew 
not  where,  Paradise  opened,  there  was  a  flood  of 
glory,  and  then  he  was  alone ;  the  ladies,  leaving 
adieus  sweeter  than  the  perfume  they  carried  away 
with  them,  floated  into  the  south  and  were  gone. 
Why  was  it  that  the  elder,  though  plainly  regarded 
by  the  younger  with  admiration,  dependence,  and 
overflowing  affection,  seemed  sometimes  to  be,  one 
might  almost  say,  watched  by  her.''  He  liked 
Aurora  the  better. 

On  his  return  to  the  shop  his  friend  remarked 
that  if  he  received  many  such  visitors  as  the  one 
who  had  called  during  his  absence,  he  might  be 
permitted  to  be  vain.  It  was  Honore  Grandissime, 
and  he  had  left  no  message. 

"  Frowenfeld,"  said  his  friend,  "  it  would  pay  you 
to  employ  a  regular  assistant." 

Joseph  was  in  an  abstracted  mood. 

"  I  have  some  thought  of  doing  so." 

Unlucky  slip!  As  he  pushed  open  his  door 
next  morning,  what  was  his  dismay  to  find  himself 
confronted  by  some  forty  men.  Five  of  them 
leaped  up  from  the  door-sill,  and  some  thirty-five 
from  the  edge  of  the  trottoir,  brushed  that  part  of 
their  wearing-apparel    which    always  fits  with  great 


158  The  Grandissimes 

neatness  on  a  Creole,  and  trooped  into  the  shop. 
The  apothecary  fell  behind  his  defences,  that  is  to 
say,  his  prescription  desk,  and  explained  to  them  in 
a  short  and  spirited  address  that  he  did  not  wish  to 
employ  any  of  them  on  any  terms.  Nine-tenths 
of  them  understood  not  a  word  of  English  ;  but 
his  gesture  was  unmistakable.  They  bowed  grate- 
fully, and  said  good-day. 

Now  Frowenfeld  did  these  young  men  an  injus- 
tice ;  and  though  they  were  far  from  letting  him 
know  it,  some  of  them  felt  it  and  interchanged 
expressions  of  feeling  reproachful  to  him  as  they 
stopped  on  the  next  corner  to  watch  a  man  painting 
a  sign.  He  had  treated  them  as  if  they  all  wanted 
situations.  Was  this  so  ?  Far  from  it.  Only 
twenty  men  were  applicants ;  the  other  twenty  were 
friends  who  had  come  to  see  them  get  the  place. 
And  again,  though,  as  the  apothecary  had  said, 
none  of  them  knew  anything  about  the  drug  busi- 
ness—  no,  nor  about  any  other  business  under  the 
heavens  —  they  were  all  willing  that  he  should  teach 
them  —  except  one.  A  young  man  of  patrician 
softness  and  costly  apparel  tarried  a  moment  after 
the  general  exodus,  and  quickly  concluded  that  on 
Frowenfeld's  account  it  was  probably  as  well  that 
he  could  not  qualify,  since  he  was  expecting  from 
France  an  important  government  appointment  as 
soon  as  these  troubles  should  be  settled  and  Lou- 
isiana restored  to  her  former  happy  condition. 
But  he  had  a  friend  —  a  cousin  —  whom  he  would 
recommend,   just    the     man     for    the     position ;    a 


Art  and  Commerce  159 

splendid  fellow;  popular,  accomplished  —  what? 
the  best  trainer  of  dogs  that  M.  Frowenfeld  might 
ever  hope  to  look,  upon  ;  a  "  so  good  fisherman  as 
I  never  saw  !  "  —  the  marvel  of  the  ball-room  — 
could  handle  a  partner  of  twice  his  weight;  the 
speaker  had  seen  him  take  a  lady  so  tall  that  his 
head  hardly  came  up  to  her  bosom,  whirl  her  in  the 
waltz  from  right  to  left  —  this  way!  and  then,  as 
quick  as  lightning,  turn  and  whirl  her  this  way,  from 
left  to  right — "so  grezful  ligue  a  peajohn  !  He 
could  read  and  write,  and  knew  more  comig  song !  " 
—  the  speaker  would  hasten  to  secure  him  before 
he  should  take  some  other  situation. 

The  wonderful  waltzer  never  appeared  upon  the 
scene ;  yet  Joseph  made  shift  to  get  along,  and  by 
and  by  found  a  man  who  partially  met  his  require- 
ments. The  way  of  it  was  this :  With  his  fore- 
finger in  a  book  which  he  had  been  reading,  he  was 
one  day  pacing  his  shop  floor  in  deep  thought. 
There  were  two  loose  threads  hanging  from  the  web 
of  incident  weaving  around  him  which  ought  to 
connect  somewhere;  but  where?  They  were  the 
two  visits  made  to  his  shop  by  the  young  merchant, 
Honore  Grandissime.  He  stopped  still  to  think  ; 
what  "  train  of  thought "  could  he  have  started  in 
the  mind  of  such  a  man  ? 

He  was  about  to  resume  his  walk,  when  there 
came  in,  or  more  strictly  speaking,  there  shot  in,  a 
young,  auburn-curled,  blue-eyed  man,  whose  adoles- 
cent buoyancy,  as  much  as  his  delicate,  silver- 
buckled  feet  and  clothes  of  perfect   fit,  pronounced 


160  The  Grandissimes 

him  all-pure  Creole.  His  name,  when  it  was  pres- 
ently heard,  accounted  for  the  blond  type  by 
revealing  a    Franco-Celtic    origin. 

" 'Sieur  Frowenfel',"  he  said,  advancing  like  a  boy 
coming  in  after  recess,  "  I  'ave  something  beauteeful 
to  place  into  yo'  window." 

He  wheeled  half  around  as  he  spoke  and  seized 
from  a  naked  black  boy,  who  at  that  instant  entered, 
a  rectangular  object  enveloped  in  paper. 

Frowenfeld's  window  was  fast  growing  to  be  a 
place  of  art  exposition.  A  pair  of  statuettes,  a 
golden  tobacco-box,  a  costly  jewel-casket,  or  a  pair 
of  richly  gemmed  horse-pistols  —  the  property  of 
some  ancient  gentleman  or  dame  of  emaciated 
fortune,  and  which  must  be  sold  to  keep  up  the 
bravery  of  good  clothes  and  pomade  that  hid  slow 
starvation  —  went  into  the  shop-window  of  the  ever- 
obliging  apothecary,  to  be  disposed  of  by  tombola. 
And  it  is  worthy  of  note  in  passing,  concerning  the 
moral  education  of  one  who  proposed  to  make  no 
conscious  compromise  with  any  sort  of  evil,  that 
in  this  drivelling  species  of  gambling  he  saw 
nothing  hurtful  or  improper.  But  "  in  Frowen- 
feld's window "  appeared  also  articles  for  simple 
sale  or  mere  transient  exhibition ;  as,  for  instance, 
the  wonderful  tapestries  of  a  blind  widow  of  ninety  ; 
tremulous  little  bunches  of  flowers,  proudly  stated 
to  have  been  made  entirely  of  the  bones  of  the 
ordinary  catfish ;  others,  large  and  spreading,  the 
sight  of  which  would  make  any  botanist  fall  down 
"  and   die    as   mad   as   the   wild   waves  be,"   whose 


Art  and  Commerce  1 6 1 

ticketed  merit  was  that  they  were  composed  exclu- 
sively of  materials  produced  upon  Creole  soil  ;  a 
picture  of  the  Ursulines'  convent  and  chapel,  done 
in  forty-five  minutes  by  a  child  of  ten  years,  the 
daughter  of  the  widow  Felicie  Grandissime;  and  the 
siege  of  Troy,  in  ordinary  ink,  done  entirely  with 
the  pen,  the  labor  of  twenty  years,  by  "  a  citizen 
of  New  Orleans."  It  was  natural  that  these  things 
should  come  to  "  Frowenfeld's  corner,"  for  there, 
oftener  than  elsewhere,  the  critics  were  gathered 
together.  Ah!  wonderful  men,  those  critics;  and, 
fortunately,  we  have  a  few  still   left. 

The  young  man  with  auburn  curls  rested  the 
edge  of  his  burden  upon  the  counter,  tore  away  its 
wrappings  and  disclosed  a  painting. 

He  said  nothing  —  with  his  mouth;  but  stood  at 
arm's  length  balancing  the  painting  and  casting  now 
upon  it  and  now  upon  Joseph  Frowenfeld  a  look 
more  replete  with  triumph  than  Caesar's  three- 
worded   dispatch. 

The  apothecary  fixed  upon  it  long  and  silently 
the  gaze  of  a  somnambulist.     At  length  he  spoke  : 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Louisiana  rif-using  to  hanter  de  h-Union  !  " 
replied  the  Creole,  with  an  ecstasy  that  threatened 
to  burst  forth  in  hip-hurrahs. 

Joseph  said  nothing,  but  silently  wondered  at 
Louisiana's  anatomy. 

"  Gran'  subjec'  !  "  said  the  Creole. 

"Allegorical,"  replied  the  hard-pressed  apothecary. 

"  Allegoricon  ?     No,  sir  !     Allegoricon  never  saw 


1 62  The  Grandissimes 

dat  pigshoe.  If  you  insist  to  know  who  make  dat 
pigshoe  —  de  hartis'  stan'  bif-ore  you  !  " 

"  It  is  your  work  ?  " 

"  'T  is  de  work  of  me,  Raoul  I  nnerarity,  cousin 
to  de  disting-wish  Honore  Grandissime.  I  swear 
to  you,  sir,  on  stack  of  Bible'  as  'igh  as  yo'  head ! " 

He  smote  his  breast. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  put  it  in  the  window  ? " 

"  Yes,  seh." 

"  For  sale  ?  " 

M.  Raoul  I  nnerarity  hesitated  a  moment  before 
replying : 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  I  think  it  is  a  foolishness  to 
be  too  proud,  eh  ?  I  want  you  to  say,  '  My  frien', 
'Sieur  I  nnerarity,  never  care  to  sell  anything;  'tis 
for  egs-hibby-shun' ;  mats  —  when  somebody  look  at 
it,  so,"  the  artist  cast  upon  his  work  a  look  of  lan- 
guishing covetousness,  "  '  you  say,  foudre  tonnerre  ! 
what  de  dev'  !  —  I  take  dat  ris-pon-sibble-ty  —  you 
can  have  her  for  two  hun'red  fifty  dollah  !  '  Better 
not  be  too  proud,  eh,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ? " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Joseph,  proceeding  to  place  it  in 
the  window,  his  new  friend  following  him  about 
spanielwise  ;  "  but  you  had  better  let  me  say  plainly 
that  it  is  for  sale." 

"Oh  —  I  don't  care  —  mats  —  my  rillation' will 
never  forgive  me!  Mais  —  go-ahead-I -don't-care  ! 
'T  is  for  sale." 

" '  Sieur  Frowenfel',"  he  resumed,  as  they  came 
away  from  the  window,  "  one  week  ago  "  —  he  held 
up  one  finger  —  "what  I  was  doing  ?     Makin'  bill 


Art  and  Commerce  163 

of  ladin',  my  faith  !  —  for  my  cousin  Honore!  an' 
now,  I  ham  a  hartis'  !  So  soon  I  foun'  dat,  I  say, 
'Cousin  Honore,'"  —  the  eloquent  speaker  lifted 
his  foot  and  administered  to  the  empty  air  a  soft, 
polite  kick  —  "I  never  goin'  to  do  anoder  lick  o' 
work  so  long  I  live;  adieu  !  " 

He  lifted  a  kiss  from  his  lips  and  wafted  it  in  the 
direction  of  his  cousin's  office. 

"  Mr.  Innerarity,"  exclaimed  the  apothecary,  "  J 
fear  you  are  making  a  great  mistake." 

"  You  tink  I  hass  too  much  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  to  be  candid,  I  do ;  but  that  is  not 
your  greatest  mistake." 

"  What  she  's  worse  ?  " 

The  apothecary  simultaneously  smiled  and 
blushed. 

"  I  would  rather  not  say  ;  it  is  a  passably  good 
example  of  Creole  art ;  there  is  but  one  way  by 
which  it  can  ever  be  worth  what  you  ask  for  it." 

"  What  dat  is  ?  " 

The  smile  faded  and  the  blush  deepened  as 
Frowenfeld  replied : 

"  If  it  could  become  the  means  of  reminding  this 
community  that  crude  ability  counts  next  to  nothing 
in  art,  and  that  nothing  else  in  this  world  ought  to 
work  so  hard  as  genius,  it  would  be  worth  thousands 
of  dollars  ! " 

"  You  tink  she  is  worse  a  t'ousand  dollah  ? " 
asked  the  Creole,  shadow  and  sunshine  chasing  each 
other  across  his  face. 

"  No,  sir." 


164  The  Grandissimes 

The  unwilling  critic  strove  unnecessarily  against 
his  smile. 

"  Ow  much  you  tink  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Innerarity,  as  an  exercise  it  is  worth  what- 
ever truth  or  skill  it  has  taught  you  ;  to  a  judge  of 
paintings  it  is  ten  dollars'  worth  of  paint  thrown 
away  ;  but  as  an  article  of  sale  it  is  worth  what  it 
will  bring  without  misrepresentation." 

"  Two  —  hun-rade  an'  —  fifty  —  dollahs  or  — 
not'in'  !  "  said  the  indignant  Creole,  clenching  one 
fist,  and  with  the  other  hand  lifting  his  hat  by  the 
front  corner  and  slapping  it  down  upon  the  counter. 
"Ha,  ha,  ha!  a  pase  of  waint  —  a  wase  of  paint! 
'Sieur  Frowenfel',  you  don'  know  not'in'  'bout  it ! 
You  har  a  jedge  of  painting?  "  he  added  cautiously. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Eh,  bien  !  foudre  tonnerre  I  —  look  yeh  !  you 
know  ?  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  Dat  de  way  de  pub- 
lique  halways  talk  about  a  hartis's  firs'  pigshoe. 
But,  I  hass  you  to  pardon  me,  Monsieur  Frowen- 
fel', if  I  'ave  speak  a  lill  too  warm." 

"  Then  you  must  forgive  me  if,  in  my  desire  to 
set  you  right,  I  have  spoken  with  too  much  liberty. 
I  probably  should  have  said  only  what  I  first  in- 
tended to  say,  that  unless  you  are  a  person  of  inde- 
pendent means " 

"  You  t'ink  I  would  make  bill  of  ladin'  ?■  Ah  ! 
Hm-m  !  " 

" that  you  had  made  a  mistake  in  throwing 

up  your  means  of  support "         x 


"  But  'e  'as  fill  de  place  an'  don'  want  me  no  mo'. 


Art  and  Commerce  165 

You  want  a  clerk  ?  —  one  what  can  speak,  fo'  lang- 
widge  —  French,  Eng-lish,  Spanish,  an'  Italienne  ? 
Come  !  I  work  for  you  in  de  mawnin'  an'  paint  in 
de  evenin' ;  come  !  " 

Joseph  was  taken  unaware.  He  smiled,  frowned, 
passed  his  hand  across  his  brow,  noticed,  for  the 
first  time  since  his  delivery  of  the  picture,  the  naked 
little  boy  standing  against  the  edge  of  a  door,  said, 
"  Why ,"  and  smiled  again. 

"  I  riffer  you  to  my  cousin  Honore,"  said  Inne- 
rarity. 

"  Have  you  any  knowledge  of  this  business  ?  " 

"  I  'ave." 

"  Can  you  keep  shop  in  the  forenoon  or  afternoon 
indifferentlv,  as  I  may  require  ?  " 

"  Eh  ?     Forenoon  —  afternoon  ?  "  was  the  reply. 

"  Can  you  paint  sometimes  in  the  morning  and 
keep  shop  in  the  evening?  " 

"  Yes,  seh." 

Minor  details  were  arranged  on  the  spot.  Raoul 
dismissed  the  black  boy,  took  off  his  coat  and  fell 
to  work  decanting  something,  with  the  understand- 
ing that  his  salary,  a  microscopic  one,  should  begin 
from  date  if  his  cousin  should  recommend  him. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',''  he  called  from  under  the 
counter,  later  in  the  day,  "  you  t'ink  it  would  be 
hanny  disgrace  to  paint  de  pigshoe  of  a  niggah  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"Ah,  my  soul !  what  a  pigshoe  I  could  paint  of 
Bras-Coupe  !  " 

We  have  the  afflatus  in  Louisiana,  if  nothing  else. 


1 66  The  Grandissimes 

CHAPTER   XX 

A    VERY     NATURAL     MISTAKE 

Mr.  Raoul  Innerarity  proved  a  treasure.  The 
fact  became  patent  in  a  few  hours.  To  a  student  of 
the  community  he  was  a  key,  a  lamp,  a  lexicon,  a 
microscope,  a  tabulated  statement,  a  book  of  her- 
aldry, a  city  directory,  a  glass  of  wine,  a  Book  of 
Days,  a  pair  of  wings,  a  comic  almanac,  a  diving 
bell,  a  Creole  Veritas.  Before  the  day  had  had 
time  to  cool,  his  continual  stream  of  words  had 
done  more  to  elucidate  the  mysteries  in  which  his 
employer  had  begun  to  be  befogged  than  half  a 
year  of  the  apothecary's  slow  and  scrupulous  guess- 
ing. It  was  like  showing  how  to  carve  a  strange 
fowl.  The  way  he  dovetailed  story  into  story  and 
drew  forward  in  panoramic  procession  Lufki- 
Humma  and  Epaminondas  Fusilier,  Zephyr 
Grandissime  and  the  lady  of  the  lettre  de  cachet, 
Demosthenes  De  Grapion  and  the  fille  a  I'hopital, 
Georges  De  Grapion  and  the  file  a  la  cassette,  Numa 
Grandissime,  father  of  the  two  Honores,  young 
Nancanou  and  old  Agricola,  —  the  way  he  made 
them 

"  Knit  hands  and  beat  the  ground 
In  a  light,  fantastic  round," 

would  have  shamed  the  skilled  volubility  of  She- 
harazade. 


A  Very  Natural  Mistake  167 

"  Look  !  "  said  the  story-teller,  summing  up ; 
"  you  take  hanny  'istory  of  France  an'  see  the  hage 
of  my  familie.  Pipple  talk  about  de  Boulignys,  de 
Sauves,  de  Grandpres,  de  Lemoynes,  de  St.  Max- 
ents,  —  bla-a-a  !  De  Grandissimes  is  as  hole  as  de 
dev'  !  What  ?  De  mose  of  de  Creole  families  is 
not  so  hold  as  plenty  of  my  yallah  kinfolks  !  " 

The  apothecary  found  very  soon  that  a  little  salt 
improved  M.  Raoul's  statements. 

But  here  he  was,  a  perfect  treasure,  and  Frowen- 
feld,  fleeing  before  his  illimitable  talking  power  in 
order  to  digest  in  seclusion  the  ancestral  episodes  of 
the  Grandissimes  and  De  Grapions,  laid  pleasant 
plans  for  the  immediate  future.  To-morrow  morn- 
ing he  would  leave  the  shop  in  Raoul's  care  and 
call  on  M.  Honore  Grandissime  to  advise  with  him 
concerning  the  retention  of  the  born  artist  as  a  drug- 
clerk.  To-morrow  evening  he  would  pluck  cour- 
age and  force  his  large  but  bashful  feet  up  to  the 
door-step  of  Number  19  rue  Bienville.  And  the 
next  evening  he  would  go  and  see  what  might  be 
the  matter  with  Doctor  Keene,  who  had  looked  ill 
on  last  parting  with  the  evening  group  that  lounged 
in  Frowenfeld's  door,  some  three  days  before.  The 
intermediate  hours  were  to  be  devoted,  of  course,  to 
the  prescription  desk  and  his  "  dead  stock." 

And  yet  after  this  order  of  movement  had  been 
thus  compactly  planned,  there  all  the  more  seemed 
still  to  be  that  abroad  which,  now  on  this  side,  and 
now  on  that,  was  urging  him  in  a  nervous  whisper 
to  make  haste.     There  had  escaped  into  the  air,  it 


i  68  The  Grandissimes 

seemed,  and  was  gliding  about,  the  expectation  of  a 
crisis. 

Such  a  feeling  would  have  been  natural  enough 
to  the  tenants  of  Number  19  rue  Bienville,  now 
spending  the  tenth  of  the  eighteen  days  of  grace 
allowed  them  in  which  to  save  their  little  fortress. 
For  Palmyre's  assurance  that  the  candle  burning 
would  certainly  cause  the  rent-money  to  be  forth- 
coming in  time  was  to  Clotilde  unknown,  and  to 
Aurora  it  was  poor  stuff  to  make  peace  of  mind  of. 
But  there  was  a  degree  of  impracticability  in  these 
ladies,  which,  if  it  was  unfortunate,  was,  nevertheless, 
a  part  of  their  Creole  beauty,  and  made  the  absence 
of  any  really  brilliant  outlook  what  the  galaxy 
makes  a  moonless  sky.  Perhaps  they  had  not  been 
as  diligent  as  they  might  have  been  in  canvassing  all 
possible  wavs  and  means  for  meeting  the  pecuniary 
emergency  so  fast  bearing  down  upon  them.  From 
a  Creole  standpoint,  they  were  not  bad  managers. 
They  could  dress  delightfully  on  an  incredibly  small 
outlay ;  could  wear  a  well-to-do  smile  over  an 
inward  sigh  of  stifled  hunger;  could  tell  the  parents 
of  their  one  or  two  scholars  to  consult  their  conve- 
nience, and  then  come  home  to  a  table  that  would 
make  any  kind  soul  weep ;  but  as  to  estimating  the 
velocity  of  bills-payable  in  their  orbits,  such  trained 
sagacity  was  not  theirs.  Their  economy  knew  how 
to  avoid  what  the  Creole-African  apothegm  calls 
commerce  Man  Lizon  —  qui  asset e  pou  trois  picaillons 
et  vend'  pou  ein  escalin  (bought  for  three  picayunes 
and  sold  for  two) ;  but   it    was    an    economy   that 


A  Very  Natural  Mistake  169 

made  their  very  hound  a  Spartan ;  for,  had  that 
economy  been  half  as  wise  as  it  was  heroic,  his  one 
meal  a  day  would  not  always  have  been  the  cook's 
leavings  of  cold  rice  and  the  lickings  of  the  gumbo 
plates. 

On  the  morning  fixed  by  Joseph  Frowenfeld  tor 
calling  on  M.  Grandissime,  on  the  banquette  of  the 
rue  Toulouse,  directly  in  front  of  an  old  Spanish 
archway  and  opposite  a  blacksmith's  shop,  —  this 
blacksmith's  shop  stood  between  a  jeweller's  store 
and  a  large,  balconied  and  dormer-windowed  wine- 
warehouse  —  Aurore  Nancanou,  closely  veiled,  had 
halted  in  a  hesitating  way  and  was  inquiring  of  a 
gigantic  negro  cartman  the  whereabouts  of  the 
counting-room  of  M.  Honore  Grandissime. 

Before  he  could  respond  she  descried  the  name 
upon  a  staircase  within  the  archway,  and,  thanking 
the  cartman  as  she  would  have  thanked  a  prince, 
hastened  to  ascend.  An  inspiring  smell  of  warm 
rusks,  coming  from  a  bakery  in  the  paved  court 
below,  rushed  through  the  archway  and  up  the  stair 
and  accompanied  her  into  the  cemetery-like  silence 
of  the  counting-room.  There  were  in  the  depart- 
ment some  fourteen  clerks.  It  was  a  den  of  Gran- 
dissimes.  More  than  half  of  them  were  men 
bevond  middle  life,  and  some  were  yet  older.  One 
or  two  were  so  handsome,  under  their  noble  silvery 
locks,  that  almost  any  woman  —  Clotilde,  for  in- 
stance,—  would  have  thought,  "No  doubt  that 
one,  or  that  one,  is  the  head  of  the  house."  Aurora 
approached   the    railing   which    shut    in    the    silent 


170  The  Grandissimes 

toilers  and  directed  her  eyes  to  the  farthest  corner 
of  the  room.  There  sat  there  at  a  large  desk  a 
thin,  sickly-looking  man  with  very  sore  eyes  and 
two  pairs  of  spectacles,  plying  a  quill  with  a  privi- 
leged loudness. 

"  H-h-m-m  !  "   said  she,  very  softly. 

A  young  man  laid  down  his  rule  and  stepped  to 
the  rail  with  a  silent  bow.  His  face  showed  a  jaded 
look.  Night  revelry,  rather  than  care  or  years,  had 
wrinkled  it ;  but  his  bow  was  high-bred. 

"  Madame,"  —  in  an  undertone. 

"  Monsieur,  it  is  M.  Grandissime  whom  I  wish 
to  see,"  she  said  in  French. 

But  the  young  man  responded  in  English. 

"  You  har  one  tenant,  ent  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  seh." 

"Zen  eet  ees  M.  De  Brahmin  zat  you  'ave 
to  see." 

"  No,  seh  ;   M.  Grandissime." 

"  M.  Grandissime  nevva  see  one  tenant." 

"  I  muz  see  M.  Grandissime." 

Aurora  lifted  her  veil  and  laid  it  up  on  her 
bonnet. 

The  clerk  immediately  crossed  the  floor  to  the 
distant  desk.  The  quill  of  the  sore-eyed  man 
scratched  louder  —  scratch,  scratch  —  as  though  it 
were  trying  to  scratch  under  the  door  of  Number 
19  rue  Bienville  —  for  a  moment,  and  then  ceased. 
The  clerk,  with  one  hand  behind  him  and  one 
touching  the  desk,  murmured  a  few  words,  to  which 
the  other,  after  glancing  under  his  arm  at  Aurora, 


A  Very  Natural  Mistake  i  7 1 

gave  a  short,  low  reply  and  resumed  his  pen.  The 
clerk  returned,  came  through  a  gateway  in  the  rail- 
ing, led  the  way  into  a  rich  inner  room,  and  turning 
with  another  courtly  bow,  handed  her  a  cushioned 
armchair  and  retired. 

"After  eighteen  years,"  thought  Aurora,  as  she 
found  herself  alone.  It  had  been  eighteen  years 
since  any  representative  of  the  De  Grapion  line  had 
met  a  Grandissime  face  to  face,  so  far  as  she  knew ; 
even  that  representative  was  only  her  deceased  hus- 
band, a  mere  connection  by  marriage.  How  many 
years  it  was  since  her  grandfather,  Georges  De 
Grapion,  captain  of  dragoons,  had  had  his  fatal  meet- 
ing with  a  Mandarin  de  Grandissime,  she  did  not 
remember.  There,  opposite  her  on  the  wall,  was 
the  portrait  of  a  young  man  in  a  corslet  who  might 
have  been  M.  Mandarin  himself.  She  felt  the 
blood  of  her  race  growing  warmer  in  her  veins. 
"Insolent  tribe,"  she  said,  without  speaking,  "  we 
have  no  more  men  left  to  fight  you  ;  but  now  wait. 
See  what  a  woman  can  do." 

These  thoughts  ran  through  her  mind  as  her  eye 
passed  from  one  object  to  another.  Something 
reminded  her  of  Frowenfeld,  and,  with  mingled 
defiance  at  her  inherited  enemies  and  amusement 
at  the  apothecary,  she  indulged  in  a  quiet  smile. 
The  smile  was  still  there  as  her  glance  in  its  grad- 
ual sweep  reached  a  small  mirror. 

She  almost  leaped  from  her  seat. 

Not  because  that  mirror  revealed  a  recess  which 
she   had   not  previously  noticed ;    not  because  be- 


172 


The  Grandissimes 


hind  a  costly  desk  therein  sat  a  youngish  man, 
reading  a  letter ;  not  because  he  might  have  been 
observing  her,  for  it  was  altogether  likely  that,  to 
avoid  premature  interruption,  he  had  avoided  look- 
ing up ;  nor  because  this  was  evidently  Honore 
Grandissime ;  but  because  Honore  Grandissime,  if 
this  were  he,  was  the  same  person  whom  she  had 
seen  only  with  his  back  turned  in  the  pharmacy  — 
the  rider  whose  horse  ten  days  ago  had  knocked 
her  down,  the  Lieutenant  of  Dragoons  who  had 
unmasked  and  to  whom  she  had  unmasked  at  the 
ball  !  Fly  !  But  where  ?  How?  It  was  too  late  ; 
she  had  not  even  time  to  lower  her  veil.  M.  Gran- 
dissime looked  up  at  the  glass,  dropped  the  letter 
with  a  slight  start  of  consternation  and  advanced 
quickly  toward  her.  For  an  instant  her  embarras- 
rassment  showed  itself  in  a  mantling  blush  and  a 
distressful  yearning  to  escape ;  but  the  next  mo- 
ment she  rose,  all  a-flutter  within,  it  is  true,  but 
with  a  face  as  nearly  sedate  as  the  inborn  witchery 
of  her  eyes  would  allow. 

He  spoke  in  Parisian  French  : 

"  Please  be  seated,  madame." 

She  sank  down. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  me?" 

"  No,  sir." 

She  did  not  see  her  way  out  of  this  falsehood, 
but  —  she  couldn't  say  yes. 

Silence  followed. 

"Whom  do " 

"  I  wish  to  see  M.  Honore  Grandissime." 


A  Very  Natural  Mistake  173 

"  That  is  my  name,  madame." 

"Ah!" — with  an  angelic  smile;  she  had  col- 
lected her  wits  now,  and  was  ready  for  war.  "  You 
are  not  one  of  his  clerks  ?" 

M.  Grandissime  smiled  softly,  while  he  said  to 
himself:  "  You  little  honey-bee,  you  want  to  sting 
me,  eh  ?  "   and  then  he  answered  her  question. 

"  No,  madame ;  I  am  the  gentleman  you  are 
looking  for." 

"  The  gentleman  she  was  look  — "  her  pride 
resented  the  fact.  "  Me  !  "  —  thought  she  —  "I 
am  the  lady  whom,  I  have  not  a  doubt,  you  have 
been  longing  to  meet  ever  since  the  ball  ;"  but  her 
look  was  unmoved  gravity.  She  touched  her  hand- 
kerchief to  her  lips  and  handed  him  the  rent  notice. 

"  I  received  that  from  your  office  the  Monday 
before  last." 

There  was  a  slight  emphasis  in  the  announcement 
of  the  time  ;  it  was  the  day  of  the  run-over. 

Honore  Grandissime,  stopping  with  the  rent- 
notice  only  half  unfolded,  saw  the  advisability  of 
calling  up  all  the  resources  of  his  sagacity  and  wit 
in  order  to  answer  wisely ;  and  as  they  answered 
his  call  a  brighter  nobility  so  overspread  face  and 
person  that  Aurora  inwardly  exclaimed  at  it  even 
while  she  exulted  in  her  thrust. 

"  Monday  before  last?" 

She  slightly  bowed. 

"  A  serious  misfortune  befell  me  that  day,"  said 
M.  Grandissime. 

"  Ah  ?  "  replied  the  lady,  raising  her  brows  with 


174  The  Grandissimes 

polite  distress,  "  but  you  have  entirely  recovered,  I 
suppose." 

"  It  was  I,  madame,  who  that  evening  caused  you 
a  mortification  for  which  I  fear  you  will  accept  no 
apology." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Aurora,  with  an  air  of 
generous  protestation,  "  it  is  I  who  should  apologize; 
I  fear  I  injured  your  horse." 

M.  Grandissime  only  smiled,  and  opening  the 
rent-notice  dropped  his  glance  upon  it  while  he  said 
in  a  preoccupied  tone  : 

"  My  horse  is  very  well,  I  thank  you." 

But  as  he  read  the  paper,  his  face  assumed  a  seri- 
ous air  and  he  seemed  to  take  an  unnecessary  length 
of  time  to  reach  the  bottom  of  it. 

"  He  is  trying  to  think  how  he  will  get  rid  of 
me,"  thought  Aurora ;  "  he  is  making  up  some 
pretext  with  which  to  dismiss  me,  and  when  the 
tenth  of  March  comes  we  shall  be  put  into  the 
street." 

M.  Grandissime  extended  the  letter  toward  her, 
but  she  did  not  lift  her  hands. 

"  I  beg  to  assure  you,  madame,  I  could  never 
have  permitted  this  notice  to  reach  you  from  my 
office  ;  I  am  not  the  Honore  Grandissime  for  whom 
this  is  signed." 

Aurora  smiled  in  a  way  to  signify  clearly  that  that 
was  just  the  subterfuge  she  had  been  anticipating. 
Had  she  been  at  home  she  would  have  thrown  her- 
self, face  downward,  upon  the  bed ;  but  she  only 
smiled    meditatively   upward   at   the    picture   of  an 


A  Very  Natural  Mistake  175 

East  Indian  harbor  and  made  an  unnecessary  re- 
arrangement of  her  handkerchief  under  her  folded 
hands. 

"  There  are,  you  know,"  —  began  Honore,  with 
a  smile  which  changed  the  meaning  to  "  You  know 
very  well  there  are  "  —  "  two  Honore  Grandissimes. 
This  one  who  sent  you  this  letter  is  a  man  of 
color " 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Aurora,  with  a  sudden  mali- 
cious sparkle. 

"If  you  will  entrust  this  paper  to  me,"  said 
Honore,  quietly,  "  I  will  see  him  and  do  now 
engage  that  you  shall  have  no  further  trouble  about 
it.  Of  course,  I  do  not  mean  that  I  will  pay  it, 
myself;  I  dare  not  offer  to  take  such  a  liberty." 

Then  he  felt  that  a  warm  impulse  had  carried  him 
a  step  too  far. 

Aurora  rose  up  with  a  refusal  as  firm  as  it  was 
silent.  She  neither  smiled  nor  scintillated  now,  but 
wore  an  expression  of  amiable  practicality  as  she 
presently  said,  receiving  back  the  rent-notice  as  she 
spoke : 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  but  it  might  seem  strange  to 
him  to  find  his  notice  in  the  hands  of  a  person  who 
can  claim  no  interest  in  the  matter.  I  shall  have  to 
attend  to  it  myself." 

"  Ah  !  little  enchantress,"  thought  her  grave-faced 
listener,  as  he  gave  attention,  "  this,  after  all  —  ball 
and  all  —  is  the  mood  in  which  you  look  your  very, 
very  best "  —  a  fact  which  nobody  knew  better  than 
the  enchantress  herself. 


176  The  Grandissimes 

He  walked  beside  her  toward  the  open  door 
leading  back  into  the  counting-room,  and  the  dozen 
or  more  clerks,  who,  each  by  some  ingenuity  of  his 
own,  managed  to  secure  a  glimpse  of  them,  could 
not  fail  to  feel  that  they  had  never  before  seen  quite 
so  fair  a  couple.  But  she  dropped  her  veil,  bowed 
M.  Grandissime  a  polite  "  No  farther,"  and  passed 
out. 

M.  Grandissime  walked  once  up  and  down  his 
private  office,  gave  the  door  a  soft  push  with  his 
foot  and  lighted  a  cigar. 

The  clerk  who  had  before  acted  as  usher  came  in 
and  handed  him  a  slip  of  paper  with  a  name  written 
on  it.  M.  Grandissime  folded  it  twice,  gazed  out 
the  window,  and  finally  nodded.  The  clerk  disap- 
peared, and  Joseph  Frowenfeld  paused  an  instant 
in  the  door  and  then  advanced,  with  a  buoyant  good- 
morning. 

"  Good-morning,"  responded  M.  Grandissime. 

He  smiled  and  extended  his  hand,  yet  there  was 
a  mechanical  and  preoccupied  air  that  was  not  what 
Joseph  felt  justified  in  expecting. 

"  How  can  I  serve  you,  Mr.  Frhowenfeld  ? " 
asked  the  merchant,  glancing  through  into  the 
counting-room.  His  coldness  was  almost  all  in 
Joseph's  imagination,  but  to  the  apothecary  it 
seemed  such  that  he  was  nearly  induced  to  walk 
away  without  answering.      However,  he  replied  : 

"  A  young  man  whom  I  have  employed  refers  to 
you  to  recommend  him." 

"  Yes,  sir  ?     Prhay,  who  is  that  ?  " 


Doctor  Keene  recovers  his  Bullet       177 

"Your  cousin,  I  believe,  Mr.  Raoul  Innerarity." 

M.  Grandissime  gave  a  low,  short  laugh,  and 
took  two  steps  toward  his  desk. 

"  Rhaoul  ?  Oh  yes,  I  rhecommend  Rhaoul  to 
you.  As  an  assistant  in  yo'  sto' ?  —  the  best  man 
you  could  find." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Joseph,  coldly.  "Good- 
morning  !  "  he  added  turning  to  go. 

"Mr.  Frhowenfeld,"  said  the  other,  "do  you 
evva  rhide  ?  " 

"  I  used  to  ride,"  replied  the  apothecary,  turning, 
hat  in  hand,  and  wondering  what  such  a  question 
could  mean. 

"  If  I  send  a  saddle-hoss  to  yo'  do'  on  day  aftah 
to-morrhow  evening  at  fo'  o'clock,  will  you  rhide 
out  with  me  for-h  about  a  hour-h  and  a  half — just 
for  a  little  pleasu'e  ?  " 

Joseph  was  yet  more  astonished  than  before. 
He  hesitated,  accepted  the  invitation,  and  once 
more  said  good-morning. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

DOCTOR    KEENE    RECOVERS    HIS    BULLET 

It  early  attracted  the  apothecary's  notice,  in  ob- 
serving the  civilization  around  him,  that  it  kept  the 
flimsy  false  bottoms  in  its  social  errors  only  by  in- 
cessant reiteration.  As  he  re-entered  the  shop,  dis- 
satisfied with  himself  for  accepting  M.  Grandissime's 


178  The  Grandissimes 

invitation  to  ride,  he  knew  by  the  fervent  words 
which  he  overheard  from  the  lips  of  his  employee 
that  the  f.  m.  c.  had  been  making  one  of  his  recon- 
noisances,  and  possibly  had  ventured  in  to  inquire 
for  his  tenant. 

"  I  t'ink,  me,  dat  hanny  w'ite  man  is  a  gen'le- 
man  ;  but  I  don't  care  if  a  man  are  good  like  a 
h-angel,  if  'e  har  not  pu'e  w'ite  'ow  can  'e  be  a 
gen'leman  ?  " 

Raoul's  words  were  addressed  to  a  man  who,  as 
he  rose  up  and  handed  Frowenfeld  a  note,  ratified 
the  Creole's  sentiment  by  a  spurt  of  tobacco  juice 
and  an  affirmative  "  Hm-m." 

The  note  was  a  lead-pencil  scrawl,  without  date. 

Dear  Joe  :  Come  and  see  me  some  time  this  evening. 
I  am  on  my  back  in  bed.  Want  your  help  in  a  little 
matter.  Yours,  Keene. 

I  have  found  out  who " 

Frowenfeld  pondered :  "  I  have  found  out  who 
"    Ah  !    Doctor    Keene    had    found    out 


who   stabbed    Agricola. 

Some  delays  occurred  in  the  afternoon,  but  toward 
sunset  the  apothecary  dressed  and  went  out.  From 
the  doctor's  bedside  in  the  rue  St.  Louis,  if  not 
delayed  beyond  all  expectation,  he  would  proceed  to 
visit  the  ladies  at  Number  19  rue  Bienville.  The 
air  was  growing  cold  and  threatening  bad  weather. 

He  found  the  Doctor  prostrate,  wasted,  hoarse, 
cross  and  almost  too  weak  for  speech.  He  could 
only  whisper,  as  his  friend  approached  his  pillow  : 


Doctor  Keene  recovers  his  Bullet       179 

"  These  vile  lungs  !  " 

"  Hemorrhage  ?  " 

The  invalid  held  up  three  small,  freckled  fingers. 

Joseph  dared  not  show  pity  in  his  gaze,  but  it 
seemed  savage  not  to  express  some  feeling,  so  after 
standing  a  moment  he  began  to  say  : 

"  I  am  very  sorry " 

"You  need  n't  bother  yourself!"  whispered  the 
doctor,  who  lay  frowning  upward.  By  and  by  he 
whispered  again. 

Frowenfeld  bent  his  ear,  and  the  little  man,  so 
merry  when  well,  repeated,  in  a  savage  hiss  : 

"  Sit  down  !  " 

It  was  some  time  before  he  again  broke  the 
silence. 

"Tell  you  what  I  want  —  you  to  do  —  for  me." 

"Well,  sir " 

"  Hold  on ! "  gasped  the  invalid,  shutting  his 
eyes  with  impatience, —  "  till  I  get  through." 

He  lay  a  little  while  motionless,  and  then  drew 
from  under  his  pillow  a  wallet,  and  from  the  wallet 
a  pistol-ball. 

"  Took  that  out  —  a  badly  neglected  wound  — 
last  day  I  saw  you."  Here  a  pause,  an  appalling 
cough,  and  by  and  by  a  whisper  :  "  Knew  the  bullet 
in  an  instant."  He  smiled  wearily.  "  Peculiar 
size."  He  made  a  feeble  motion.  Frowenfeld 
guessed  the  meaning  of  it  and  handed  him  a  pistol 
rrom  a  small  table.  The  ball  slipped  softly  home. 
"  Refused  two  hundred  dollars  —  those  pistols"  — 
with  a  sigh  and  closed  eyes.      By  and  by  again  — 


180  The  Grandissimes 

— "  Patient  had  smart  fever  —  but  it  will  be  gone 
—  time  you  get  —  there.  Want  you  to  —  take 
care  —  t'    I   get   up." 

"  But,  Doctor " 

The  sick  man  turned  away  his  face  with  a  petu- 
lant frown  ;  but  presently,  with  an  effort  at  self- 
control,  brought  it  back  and   whispered : 

"  You  mean  you  —  not  physician  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  No.  No  more  are  half — doc's.  You  can  do 
it.  Simple  gun-shot  wound  in  the  shoulder/'  A 
rest.  "  Pretty  wound  ;  ranges  "  —  he  gave  up  the 
effort  to  describe  it.  "  You  '11  see  it."  Another 
rest.  "  You  see  —  this  matter  has  been  kept  quiet 
so  far.  I  don't  want  any  one  —  else  to  know  — 
anything  about  it."  He  sighed  audibly  and  looked 
as  though  he  had  gone  to  sleep,  but  whispered 
again,  with  his  eyes  closed  — "  'specially  on  cul- 
prit's   own    account." 

Frowenfeld  was  silent :  but  the  invalid  was  waiting 
for  an  answer,  and,  not  getting  it,  stirred  peevishly. 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  go  to-night  ? "  asked  the 
apothecary. 

"  To-morrow  morning.     Will  you ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Doctor." 

The  invalid  lay  quite  still  for  several  minutes, 
looking  steadily  at  his  friend,  and  finally  let  a  faint 
smile  play  about  his  mouth, —  a  wan  reminder  of 
his   habitual    roguery. 

"  Good  boy,"  he  whispered. 

Frowenfeld  rose  and  straightened  the  bedclothes, 


Wars  within  the  Breast  1 8 1 

took  a  few  steps  about  the  room,  and  finally 
returned.  The  Doctor's  restless  eye  had  followed 
him  at  every  movement. 

"You'll  go?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  apothecary,  hat  in  hand; 
"  where   is    it  ?  " 

"Corner  Bienville  and  Bourbon, —  upper  river 
corner, —  yellow  one-story  house,  door-steps  on 
street.     You  know   the  house?" 

"  I  think  I  do." 

"  Good-night.  Here  !  —  I  wish  you  would  send 
that  black  girl  in  here  —  as  you  .go  out — make  me 
better  fire  —  Joe  !"  the  call  was  a  ghostly  whisper. 

Frowenfeld  paused  in  the  door. 

"You  don't  mind  my  —  bad  manners,  Joe  ?  " 

The  apothecary  gave  one  of  his  infrequent 
smiles. 

"  No,  Doctor." 

He  started  toward  Number  19  rue  Bienville,  but 
a  light,  cold  sprinkle  set  in,  and  he  turned  back 
toward  his  shop.  No  sooner  had  the  rain  got  him 
there  than  it  stopped,  as  rain  sometimes  will  do. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

WARS    WITHIN    THE     BREAST 

The  next  morning  came  in  frigid  and  gray.  The 
unseasonable  numerals  which  the  meteorologist  re- 
corded in  his   tables  might  have  provoked  a  super- 


I  82  The  Grandissimes 

stitious  lover  of  better  weather  to  suppose  that 
Monsieur  Danny,  the  head  imp  of  discord,  had 
been  among  the  aerial  currents.  The  passionate 
southern  sky,  looking  down  and  seeing  some  six 
thousand  to  seventy-five  hundred  of  her  favorite 
children  disconcerted  and  shivering,  tried  in  vain, 
for  two  hours,  to  smile  upon  them  with  a  little 
frozen  sunshine,  and  finally  burst  into  tears. 

In  thus  giving  way  to  despondency,  it  is  sad  to 
say,  the  sky  was  closely  imitating  the  simultaneous 
behavior  of  Aurora  Nancanou.  Never  was  pretty 
lady  in  cheerier  mood  than  that  in  which  she  had 
come  home  from  Honore's  counting-room.  Hard 
would  it  be  to  find  the  material  with  which  to  build 
again  the  castles-in-air  that  she  founded  upon  two 
or  three  little  discoveries  there  made.  Should  she 
tell  them  to  Clotilde  ?  Ah  !  and  for  what  ?  No, 
Clotilde  was  a  dear  daughter  —  ha!  few  women 
were  capable  of  having  such  a  daughter  as  Clotilde ; 
but  there  were  things  about  which  she  was  entirely 
too  scrupulous.  So,  when  she  came  in  from  that 
errand  profoundly  satisfied  that  she  would  in  future 
hear  no  more  about  the  rent  than  she  might  choose 
to  hear,  she  had  been  too  shrewd  to  expose  herself 
to  her  daughter's  catechising.  She  would  save  her 
little  revelations  for  disclosure  when  they  might  be 
used  to  advantage.  As  she  threw  her  bonnet  upon 
the  bed,  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  gentle  and 
wearied  reproach  : 

"  Why  did  you  not  remind  me  that  M.  Honore 
Grandissime,  that  precious  somebody-great,  has  the 


Wars  within  the  Breast  183 

honor  to  rejoice  in  a  quadroon  half-brother  of  the 
same  illustrious  name  ?  Why  did  you  not  remind 
me,  eh  ? " 

"  Ah  !  and  you  know  it  as  well  as  A,  B,  C," 
playfully  retorted  Clotilde. 

"  Well,  guess  which  one  is  our  landlord  ? " 

"  Which  one  ?  " 

"  Ma  foi  1  how  do  /  know  ?  I  had  to  wait  a 
shameful  long  time  to  see  Monsieur  le  prince^  — just 
because  I  am  a  De  Grapion,  I  know.  When  at 
last  I  saw  him,  he  says,  '  Madame,  this  is  the  other 
Honore  Grandissime.'  There,  you  see  we  are  the 
victims  of  a  conspiracy;  if  I  go  to  the  other,  he  will 
send  me  back  to  the  first.  But,  Clotilde,  my  dar- 
ling," cried  the  beautiful  speaker,  beamingly,  "  dis- 
miss all  fear  and  care ;  we  shall  have  no  more 
trouble  about  it." 

"  And  how,  indeed,  do  you  know  that?  " 

"  Something  tells  it  to  me  in  my  ear.  I  feel  it ! 
Trust  in  Providence,  my  child.  Look  at  me,  how 
happy  I  am  ;  but  you  —  you  never  trust  in  Provi- 
dence. That  is  why  we  have  so  much  trouble, — 
because  you  don't  trust  in  Providence.  Oh  !  I  am 
so  hungry,  let  us  have  dinner." 

"What  sort  of  a  person  is  M.  Grandissime  in  his 
appearance  ?  "  asked  Clotilde,  over  their  feeble  ex- 
cuse for  a  dinner. 

"What  sort?  Do  you  imagine  I  had  nothing 
better  to  do  than  notice  whether  a  Grandissime  is 
good-looking  or  not  ?  For  all  I  know  to  the  con- 
trary, he  is some  more  rice,  please,  my  dear." 


184  The  Grandissimes 

But  this  light-heartedness  did  not  last  long.  It 
was  based  on  an  unutterable  secret,  all  her  own, 
about  which  she  still  had  trembling  doubts ;  this, 
too,  notwithstanding  her  consultation  of  the  dark 
oracles.  She  was  going  to  stop  that.  In  the  long 
run,  these  charms  and  spells  themselves  bring  bad 
luck.  Moreover,  the  practice,  indulged  in  to  ex- 
cess, was  wicked,  and  she  had  promised  Clotilde,  — 
that  droll  little  saint,  —  to  resort  to  them  no  more. 
Hereafter,  she  should  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  except, 
to  be  sure,  to  take  such  ordinary  precautions  against 
misfortune  as  casting  upon  the  floor  a  little  of  what- 
ever she  might  be  eating  or  drinking  to  propitiate 
M.  Assonquer.  She  would  have  liked,  could  she 
have  done  it  without  fear  of  detection,  to  pour  upon 
the  front  door-sill  an  oblation  of  beer  sweetened  with 
black  molasses  to  Papa  Lebat  (who  keeps  the  invis- 
ible keys  of  all  the  doors  that  admit  suitors),  but 
she  dared  not ;  and  then,  the  hound  would  surely 
have  licked  it  up.  Ah  me  !  was  she  forgetting  that 
she  was  a  widow  ? 

She  was  in  poor  plight  to  meet  the  all  but  icy 
gray  morning  ;  and,  to  make  her  misery  still  greater, 
she  found,  on  dressing,  that  an  accident  had  over- 
taken her,  which  she  knew  to  be  a  trustworthy  sign 
of  love  grown  cold.  She  had  lost  —  alas!  how  can 
we  communicate  it  in  English  !  —  a  small  piece  of 
lute-string  ribbon,  about  so  long,  which  she  used  for 
—  not  a  necktie  exactly,  but 

And  she  hunted  and  hunted,  and  couldn't  bear 
to  give  up  the  search,  and  sat  down  to  breakfast  and 


Wars  within  the  Breast  185 

ate  nothing,  and  rose  up  and  searched  again  (not 
that  she  cared  for  the  omen),  and  struck  the  hound 
with  the  broom,  and  broke  the  broom,  and  hunted 
again,  and  looked  out  the  front  window,  and  saw 
the  rain  beginning  to  fall,  and  dropped  into  a  chair 
—  crying,  "  Oh  !  Clotilde,  my  child,  my  child  !  the 
rent  collector  will  be  here  Saturday  and  turn  us  into 
the  street !  "  and  so  fell  a-weeping. 

A  little  tear-letting  lightened  her  unrevealable 
burden,  and  she  rose,  rejoicing  that  Clotilde  had 
happened  to  be  out  of  eye-and-ear-shot.  The 
scanty  fire  in  the  fireplace  was  ample  to  warm  the 
room ;  the  fire  within  her  made  it  too  insufferably 
hot !  Rain  or  no  rain,  she  parted  the  window-cur- 
tains and  lifted  the  sash.  What  a  mark  for  Love's 
arrow  she  was,  as,  at  the  window,  she  stretched  her 
two  arms  upward!  And,  "right  so,"  who  should 
chance  to  come  cantering  by,  the  big  drops  of  rain 
pattering  after  him,  but  the  knightliest  man  in  that 
old  town,  and  the  fittest  to  perfect  the  fine  old- 
fashioned  poetry  of  the  scene ! 

"  Clotilde,"  said  Aurora,  turning  from  her  mirror, 
whither  she  had  hastened  to  see  if  her  face  showed 
signs  of  tears  (Clotilde  was  entering  the  room),  "we 
shall  never  be  turned  out  of  this  house  by  Honore 
Grandissime  !  " 

"Why?"  asked  Clotilde,  stopping  short  in  the 
floor,  forgetting  Aurora's  trust  in  Providence,  and 
expecting  to  hear  that  M.  Grandissime  had  been 
found  dead  in  his  bed. 

"  Because   I   saw  him  just   now ;  he  rode  by  on 


1 86  The  Grandissimes 

horseback.  A  man  with  that  noble  face  could  never 
do  such  a  thing  I  " 

The  astonished  Clotilde  looked  at  her  mother 
searchingly.  This  sort  of  speech  about  a  Grandis- 
sime  ?     But  Aurora  was  the  picture  of  innocence. 

Clotilde  uttered  a  derisive  laugh. 

"  Impertinente !  "  exclaimed  the  other,  laboring 
not  to  join  in  it. 

"  Ah-h-h  !  "  cried  Clotilde,  in  the  same  mood, 
"  and  what  face  had  he  when  he  wrote  that  letter  ?  " 

"  What  face  ?  " 

"  Yes,  what  face  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  face  you  mean,"  said 
Aurora. 

"  What  face,"  repeated  Clotilde,  "  had  Monsieur 
Honore  de  Grandissime  on  the  day  that  he 
wrote " 

"  Ah,  f-fah  !  "  cried  Aurora,  and  turned  away, 
"  you  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about  ! 
You  make  me  wish  sometimes  that  I  were  dead !  " 

Clotilde  had  gone  and  shut  down  the  sash,  as  it 
began  to  rain  hard  and  blow.  As  she  was  turning 
away,  her  eye  was  attracted  by  an  object  at  a 
distance. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Aurora,  from  a  seat  before 
the  fire. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Clotilde,  weary  of  the  sensa- 
tional,—  "a  man  in  the  rain." 

It  was  the  apothecary  of  the  rue  Royale,  turning 
from  that  street  toward  the  rue  Bourbon,  and  bow- 
ing his  head  against  the  swirling  norther. 


ng    the    intrude 

I    through 
im    where    he   stooti  nyre 

Her.  dress  was  a  long,  snowy  morn- 
sround  loosely  about  at  the  waist  v 
tassel    of   scarlet    silk  ;  a    brig 

red   her  from  the  waist  d 
and  a  necklace  of  red  coral  heightened  to 
her  untamable  beau: 

An  gainst    Doctor 

Ke>  7  on 

fire,  compre- 

nind   an    angry   determination 
lg   shape,    to  be  neither  trifled    i 
contemned.       And    this    again    the 
cerned,  before 

ne  " he  began,  but  stoPp< 

uncomfortable  were  her  e 
She  did  not  stir  or  r 

Then   he  bethought   him  with   a  took 

is  dripping  hat. 

er  glance;  it  g 


Frowenfeld  keeps  his  Appointment      189 

"  The  doctor  is  sick,  and  he  asked  me  to  dress 
your  wound." 

She  made  the  slightest  discernible  motion  of  the 
head,  remained  for  a  moment  silent,  and  then,  still 
with  the  same  eye,  motioned  her  hand  toward  a 
chair  near  a  comfortable  fire. 

He  sat  down.  It  would  be  well  to  dry  himself. 
He  drew  near  the  hearth  and  let  his  gaze  fall  into 
the  fire.  When  he  presently  lifted  his  eyes  and 
looked  full  upon  the  woman  with  a  steady,  candid 
glance,  she  was  regarding  him  with  apparent  cold- 
ness, but  with  secret  diligence  and  scrutiny,  and  a 
yet  more  inward  and  secret  surprise  and  admira- 
tion. Hard  rubbing  was  bringing  out  the  grain  of 
the  apothecary.  But  she  presently  suppressed  the 
feeling.     She  hated  men. 

But  Frowenfeld,  even  while  his  eyes  met  hers, 
could  not  resent  her  hostility.  This  monument  of 
the  shame  of  two  races — this  poisonous  blossom 
of  crime  growing  out  of  crime  —  this  final,  un- 
answerable white  man's  accuser  —  this  would-be 
murderess — what  ranks  and  companies  would  have 
to  stand  up  in  the  Great  Day  with  her  and  answer 
as  accessory  before  the  fact  !  He  looked  again 
into  the  fire. 

The  patient  spoke : 

"  Eh  bin,  Mich'e?  "  Her  look  was  severe,  but 
less  aggressive.  The  shufHe  of  the  old  negress's 
feet  was  heard  and  she  appeared  bearing  warm  and 
cold  water  and  fresh  bandages ;  after  depositing 
them   she   tarried. 


190 


The  Grandissimes 


"  Your  fever  is  gone,"  said  Frowenfeld,  standing 
by  the  bed.  He  had  laid  his  fingers  on  her  wrist. 
She  brushed  them  off  and  once  more  turned  full 
upon  him  the  cold  hostility  of  her  passionate  eyes. 

The  apothecary,  instead  of  blushing,  turned  pale. 

"You  — "  he  was  going  to  say,  "You  insult 
me  ;  "  but  his  lips  came  tightly  together.  Two  big 
cords  appeared  between  his  brows,  and  his  blue 
eyes  spoke  for  him.  Then,  as  the  returning  blood 
rushed  even  to  his  forehead,  he  said,  speaking  his 
words  one  by  one  ; 

"  Please  understand  that  you  must  trust  me." 

She  may  not  have  understood  his  English,  but 
she  comprehended,  nevertheless.  She  looked  up 
fixedly  for  a  moment,  then  passively  closed  her 
eyes.  Then  she  turned,  and  Frowenfeld  put  out 
one  strong  arm,  helped  her  to  a  sitting  posture  on 
the  side  of  the  bed  and  drew  the  shawl  about  her. 

"  Zizi,"  she  said,  and  the  negress,  who  had  stood 
perfectly  still  since  depositing  the  water  and  band- 
ages, came  forward  and  proceeded  to  bare  the  phil- 
osophe's  superb  shoulder.  As  Frowenfeld  again 
put  forward  his  hand,  she  lifted  her  own  as  if  to 
prevent  him,  but  he  kindly  and  firmly  put  it  away 
and  addressed  himself  with  silent  diligence  to  his 
task ;  and  by  the  time  he  had  finished,  his  womanly 
touch,  his  commanding  gentleness,  his  easy  despatch, 
had  inspired  Palmyre  not  only  with  a  sense  of  safety, 
comfort,  and  repose,  but  with  a  pleased  wonder. 

This  woman  had  stood  all  her  life  with  dagger 
drawn,  on   the   defensive  against  what  certainly  was 


Frowenfeld  keeps  his  Appointment       191 

to  her  an  unmerciful  world.  With  possibly  one 
exception,  the  man  now  before  her  was  the  only 
one  she  had  ever  encountered  whose  speech  and 
gesture  were  clearly  keyed  to  that  profound  respect 
which  is  woman's  first,  foundation  claim  on  man. 
And  yet,  by  inexorable  decree,  she  belonged  to 
what  we  used  to  call  "  the  happiest  people  under 
the  sun."     We  ought  to  stop  saying  that. 

So  far  as  Palmyre  knew,  the  entire  masculine 
wing  of  the  mighty  and  exalted  race,  three-fourths 
of  whose  blood  bequeathed  her  none  of  its  pre- 
rogatives, regarded  her  as  legitimate  prey.  The 
man  before  her  did  not.  There  lay  the  fundamen- 
tal difference  that,  in  her  sight,  as  soon  as  she  dis- 
covered it,  glorified  him.  Before  this  assurance 
the  cold  fierceness  of  her  eyes  gave  way,  and  a 
friendlier  light  from  them  rewarded  the  apothecary's 
final  touch.  He  called  for  more  pillows,  made  a 
nest  of  them,  and,  as  she  let  herself  softly  into  it, 
directed  his  next  consideration  toward  his  hat  and 
the  door. 

It  was  many  an  hour  after  he  had  backed  out 
into  the  trivial  remains  of  the  rain-storm  before  he 
could  replace  with  more  tranquillizing  images  the 
vision  of  the  philosophe  reclining  among  her  pil- 
lows, in  the  act  of  making  that  uneasy  movement 
of  her  fingers  upon  the  collar  button  of  her  robe, 
which  women  make  when  they  are  uncertain  about 
the  perfection  of  their  dishabille,  and  giving  her 
inaudible  adieu  with  the  majesty  of  an  empress. 


192  The  Grandissimes 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

FROWENFELD     MAKES    AN     ARGUMENT 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  on  which 
Frowenfeld  visited  the  house  of  the  philosophe,  the 
weather,  which  had  been  so  unfavorable  to  his  late 
plans,  changed;  the  rain  ceased,  the  wind  drew 
around  to  the  south,  and  the  barometer  promised 
a  clear  sky.  Wherefore  he  decided  to  leave  his 
business,  when  he  should  have  made  his  evening 
weather  notes,  to  the  care  of  M.  Raoul  Innerarity, 
and  venture  to  test  both  Mademoiselle  Clotilde's 
repellent  attitude  and  Aurora's  seeming  cordiality 
at  Number   19  rue  Bienville. 

Why  he  should  go  was  a  question  which  the 
apothecary  felt  himself  but  partially  prepared  to 
answer.  What  necessity  called  him,  what  good  was 
to  be  effected,  what  was  to  happen  next,  were  points 
he  would  have  liked  to  be  clear  upon.  That  he 
should  be  going  merely  because  he  was  invited  to 
come  —  merely  for  the  pleasure  of  breathing  their 
atmosphere  —  that  he  should  be  supinely  gravita- 
ting toward  them  —  this  conclusion  he  positively 
could  not  allow ;  no,  no ;  the  love  of  books  and 
the  fear  of  women  alike  protested. 

True,  they  were  a  part  of  that  book  which  is 
pronounced  "  the  proper  study  of  mankind,"  — 
indeed,  that  was  probably  the  reason  which  he 
sought :    he  was   going   to   contemplate  them   as   a 


Frowenfeld  makes  an  Argument       193 

frontispiece  to  that  unwriteable  volume  which  he 
had  undertaken  to  con.  Also,  there  was  a  chari- 
table motive.  Doctor  Keene,  months  before,  had 
expressed  a  deep  concern  regarding  their  lack  of 
protection  and  even  of  daily  provision  ;  he  must 
quietly  look  into  that.  Would  some  unforeseen 
circumstance  shut  him  off  this  evening  again  from 
this  very  proper  use  of  time  and  opportunity? 

As  he  was  sitting  at  the  table  in  his  back  room, 
registering  his  sunset  observations,  and  wondering 
what  would  become  of  him  if  Aurora  should  be  out 
and  that  other  in,  he  was  startled  by  a  loud,  deep 
voice  exclaiming,  close  behind  him  : 

"  Eh,  biert  !  Monsieur  le  Professeur  !  " 

Frowenfeld  knew  by  the  tone,  before  he  looked 
behind  him,  that  he  would  find  M.  Agricola  Fusi- 
lier very  red  in  the  face  ;  and  when  he  looked,  the 
only  qualification  he  could  make  was  that  the  citi- 
zen's countenance  was  not  so  ruddy  as  the  red 
handkerchief  in  which   his   arm  was   hanging. 

"  What  have  you  there  ?  "  slowly  continued  the 
patriarch,  taking  his  free  hand  off  his  fettered  arm 
and  laying  it  upon  the  page  as  Frowenfeld  hurriedly 
rose,  and  endeavored  to  shut  the  book. 

"  Some  private  memoranda,"  answered  the  mete- 
orologist, managing  to  get  one  page  turned  back- 
ward, reddening  with  confusion  and  indignation,  and 
noticing  that  Agricola's  spectacles  were  upside  down. 

"  Private  !  Eh  ?  No  such  thing,  sir  !  Profes- 
sor Frowenfeld,  allow  me  "  (a  classic  oath)  "  to  say 
to  your  face,  sir,  that  you  are  the  most  brilliant  and 


194  The  Grandissimes 

the  most  valuable  man — of  your  years  —  in  afflicted 
Louisiana!  Ha!"  (reading:)  "'Morning  obser- 
vation ;  Cathedral  clock,  7  a.  m.  Thermometer 
70  degrees.'  Ha!  'Hygrometer  15'  —  but  this 
is  not  to-day's  weather  ?  Ah  !  no.  Ha  !  '  Barom- 
eter 30.380.'  Ha!  'Sky  cloudy,  dark;  wind, 
south,  light.'  Ha!  'River  rising.'  Ha!  Profes- 
sor Frowenfeld,  when  will  you  give  your  splendid 
services  to  your  section  ?  You  must  tell  me,  my 
son,  for  I  ask  you,  my  son,  not  from  curiosity,  but 
out  of  impatient  interest." 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  shall  ever  publish  my 
tables,"  replied  the  "  son,"  pulling  at  the  book. 

"  Then,  sir,  in  the  name  of  Louisiana,"  thundered 
the  old  man,  clinging  to  the  book,  "  I  can  !  They 
shall  be  published !  Ah  !  yes,  dear  Frowenfeld. 
The  book,  of  course,  will  be  in  French,  eh  ?  You 
would  not  so  affront  the  most  sacred  prejudices  of 
the  noble  people  to  whom  you  owe  everything  as 
to  publish  it  in  English?  You — ah!  have  we 
torn  it  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  write  French,"  said  the  apothecary, 
laying   the  torn   edges   together. 

"  Professor  Frowenfeld,  men  are  born  for  each 
other.  What  do  I  behold  before  me  ?  I 
behold  before  me,  in  the  person  of  my  gifted 
young  friend,  a  supplement  to  myself!  Why  has 
Nature  strengthened  the  soul  of  Agricola  to  hold 
the  crumbling  fortress  of  this  body  until  these  eyes 
—  which  were  once,  my  dear  boy,  as  proud  and 
piercing  as  the  battle-steed's  —  have  become  dim  ?  " 


Frowenfeld  makes  an  Argument       195 

Joseph's  insurmountable  respect  for  gray  hairs 
kept  him  standing,  but  he  did  not  respond  with  any 
conjecture  as  to  Nature's  intentions,  and  there  was 
a  stern  silence. 

The  crumbling  fortress  resumed,  his  voice  pitched 
low  like  the  beginning  of  the  long  roll.  He  knew 
Nature's  design. 

"It  was  in  order  that  you,  Professor  Frowenfeld, 
might  become  my  vicar !  Your  book  shall  be  in 
French  !  We  must  give  it  a  wide  scope  !  It  shall 
contain  valuable  geographical,  topographical,  bio- 
graphical, and  historical  notes.  It  shall  contain 
complete  lists  of  all  the  officials  in  the  province  (I 
don't  say  territory,  I  say  province)  with  their  sal- 
aries and  perquisites  ;  ah !  we  will  expose  that ! 
And — ha!  I  will  write  some  political  essays  for  it. 
Raoul  shall  illustrate  it.  Honore  shall  give  you 
money  to  publish  it.  Ah  !  Professor  Frowenfeld, 
the  star  of  your  fame  is  rising  out  of  the  waves  of 
oblivion  !  Come  —  I  dropped  in  purposely  to  ask 
you  —  come  across  the  street  and  take  a  glass  of 
tafia  with  Agricola  Fusilier." 

This  crowning  honor  the  apothecary  was  insane 
enough  to  decline,  and  Agricola  went  away  with 
many  professions  of  endearment,  but  secretly 
offended  because  Joseph  had  not  asked  about  his 
wound. 

All  the  same  the  apothecary,  without  loss  of 
time,  departed  for  the  yellow-washed  cottage, 
Number   19   rue   Bienville. 

"  To-morrow,  at  four  p.  m.,"  he  said  to  himself, 


x  96  The  Grandissimes 

"  if  the  weather  is  favorable,  I  ride  with  M.  Gran- 
dissime." 

He  almost  saw  his  books  and  instruments  look 
up  at  him   reproachfully. 

The  ladies  were  at  home.  Aurora  herself  opened 
the  door,  and  Clotilde  came  forward  from  the  bright 
fire-place  with  a  cordiality  never  before  so  un- 
qualified. There  was  something  about  these  ladies 
—  in  their  simple,  but  noble  grace,  in  their  half- 
Gallic,  half-classic  beauty,  in  a  jocund  buoyancy 
mated  to  an  amiable  dignity  —  that  made  them 
appear  to  the  scholar  as  though  they  had  just 
bounded  into  life  from  the  garlanded  procession  of 
some  old  fresco.  The  resemblance  was  not  a  little 
helped  on  by  the  costume  of  the  late  Revolution 
(most  acceptably  chastened  and  belated  by  the 
distance  from  Paris).  Their  black  hair,  somewhat 
heavier  on  Clotilde's  head,  where  it  rippled  once  or 
twice,  was  knotted  en  Grecque,  and  adorned  only 
with  the  spoils  of  a  nosegay  given  to  Clotilde  by  a 
chivalric  small  boy  in  the  home  of  her  music 
scholar. 

"  We  was  expectin'  you  since  several  days,"  said 
Clotilde,  as  the  three  sat  down  before  the  fire, 
Frowenfeld  in  a  cushioned  chair  whose  moth-holes 
had  been  carefully  darned. 

Frowenfeld  intimated,  with  tolerable  composure, 
that  matters  beyond  his  control  had  delayed  his 
coming,  beyond  his  intention. 

"You  gedd'n'  ridge,"  said  Aurora,  dropping  her 
wrists  across  each  other. 


Frowenfeld  makes  an  Argument       197 

Frowenfeld,  for  once,  laughed  outright,  and  it 
seemed  so  odd  in  him  to  do  so  that  both  the  ladies 
followed  his  example.  The  ambition  to  be  rich 
had  never  entered  his  thought,  although  in  an 
unemotional,  German  way,  he  was  prospering  in  a 
little  city  where  wealth  was  daily  pouring  in,  and  a 
man  had  only  to  keep  step,  so  to  say,  to  march 
into  possessions. 

"  You  hought  to  'ave  a  mo'  larger  sto'  an'  some 
clerque,"  pursued  Aurora. 

The  apothecary  answered  that  he  was  contem- 
plating the  enlargement  of  his  present  place  or 
removal  to  a  roomier,  and  that  he  had  already 
employed  an  assistant. 

"Oo  it  is,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  " 

Clotilde  turned  toward  the  questioner  a  remons- 
trative  glance. 

"His  name,"  replied  Frowenfeld,  betraying 
a  slight  embarrassment,  "is — Innerarity  ;  Mr. 
Raoul    Innerarity;     he    is " 

"  Ee  pain'  dad  pigtu'  w'at  'angin'  in  yo'  window?" 

Clotilde's  remonstrance  rose  to  a  slight  move- 
ment and  a  murmur. 

Frowenfeld  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and 
possibly  betrayed  the  faint  shadow  of  a  smile. 
The  response  was  a  peal  of  laughter  from  both 
ladies. 

"  He  is  an  excellent  drug  clerk,"  said  Frowenfeld 
defensively. 

Whereat  Aurora  laughed  again,  leaning  over  and 
touching  Clotilde's  knee  with  one  finger. 


198  The  Grandissimes 

"  An'  excellen'  drug  cl'  —  ha,  ha,  ha  !  oh  !  " 

"  You  muz  podden  uz,  M'sieu'  Frowenfel',''  said 
Clotilde,  with  forced  gravity. 

Aurora  sighed  her  participation  in  the  apology ; 
and,  a  few  moments  later,  the  apothecary  and  both 
ladies  (the  one  as  fond  of  the  abstract  as  the  other 
two  were  ignorant  of  the  concrete)  were  engaged  in 
an  animated,  running  discussion  on  art,  society, 
climate,  education, —  all  those  large,  secondary 
desiderata  which  seem  of  first  importance  to  young 
ambition  and  secluded  beauty,  flying  to  and  fro 
among  these  subjects  with  all  the  liveliness  and 
uncertainty  of  a  game  of  pussy-wants-a-corner. 

Frowenfeld  had  never  before  spent  such  an  hour. 
At  its  expiration,  he  had  so  well  held  his  own 
against  both  the  others,  that  the  three  had  settled 
down  to  this  sort  of  entertainment  :  Aurora 
would  make  an  assertion,  or  Clotilde  would  ask 
a  question ;  and  Frowenfeld,  moved  by  that 
frankness  and  ardent  zeal  for  truth  which  had 
enlisted  the  early  friendship  of  Dr.  Keene,  amused 
and  attracted  Honore  Grandissime,  won  the  con- 
fidence of  the  f.  m.  c,  and  tamed  the  fiery  distrust 
and  enmity  of  Palmyre,  would  present  his  opinions 
without  the  thought  of  a  reservation  either  in  him- 
self or  his  hearers.  On  their  part,  they  would  sit 
in  deep  attention,  shielding  their  faces  from  the 
fire,  and  responding  to  enunciations  directly  contrary 
to  their  convictions  with  an  occasional  "  yes-seh,"  or 
"  ceddenly,"  or  "  of  coze,"  or, —  prettier  affirmation 
still, —  a    solemn   drooping  of  the  eyelids,  a  slight 


Frowenfeld  makes  and  Argument       199 

compression  of  the  lips,  and  a  low,  slow  declination 
of  the  head. 

"The  bane  of  all  Creole  art-effort  "  —  (we  take 
up  the  apothecary's  words  at  a  point  where  Clotilde 
was  leaning  forward  and  slightly  frowning  in  an 
honest  attempt  to  comprehend  his  condensed  Eng- 
lish)—  "the  bane  of  all  Creole  art-effort,  so  far  as 
I  have  seen  it,  is  amateurism." 

"  Amateu  — "  murmured  Clotilde,  a  little  be- 
clouded on  the  main  word  and  distracted  by  a 
French  difference  of  meaning,  but  planting  an  elbow 
on  one  knee  in  the  genuineness  of  her  attention, 
and  responding  with  a  bow. 

"  That  is  to  say,"  said  Frowenfeld,  apologizing  for 
the  homeliness  of  his  further  explanation  by  a  smile, 
"  a  kind  of  ambitious  indolence  that  lays  very  large 
eggs,  but  can  neither  see  the  necessity  for  building 
a  nest  beforehand,  nor  command  the  patience  to 
hatch  the  eggs  afterward." 

"  Of  coze,"  said  Aurora. 

"  It  is  a  great  pity,"  said  the  sermonizer,  looking 
at  the  face  of  Clotilde,  elongated  in  the  brass  and- 
iron ;  and,  after  a  pause  :  "  Nothing  on  earth  can 
take  the  place  of  hard  and  patient  labor.  But  that, 
in  this  community,  is  not  esteemed;  most  sorts  of 
it  are  contemned  ;  the  humbler  sorts  are  despised, 
and  the  higher  are  regarded  with  mingled  patronage 
and  commiseration.  Most  of  those  who  come  to 
my  shop  with  their  efforts  at  art  hasten  to  explain, 
either  that  they  are  merely  seeking  pastime,  or  else 
that  they  are  driven  to  their  course  by  want ;   and 


200  The  Grandissimes 

if  I  advise  them  to  take  their  work  back  and  finish 
it,  they  take  it  back  and  never  return.  Industry  is 
not  only  despised,  but  has  been  degraded  and  dis- 
graced, handed  over  into  the  hands  of  African 
savages." 

"  Doze  Creole'  is  lezzy,"  said  Aurora. 

"That  is  a  hard  word  to  apply  to  those  who  do 
not  consciously  deserve  it,"  said  Frowenfeld  ;  "  but  if 
they  could  only  wake  up  to  the  fact,  —  find  it  out 
themselves " 

"  Ceddenly,"  said  Clotilde. 

"'Sieur  FrowenfeP,"  said  Aurora,  leaning  her 
head  on  one  side,  "  some  pipple  thing  it  is  doze 
climade ;   'ow  you  lag  doze  climade  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  suppose,"  replied  the  visitor,  "  there 
is  a  more  delightful  climate  in  the  world." 

"  Ah-h-h  !  "  —  both  ladies  at  once,  in  a  low,  gra- 
cious tone  of  acknowledgment. 

"  I  thing  Louisiana  is  a  paradize-me  ! "  said 
Aurora.  "  Were  you  goin'  fin'  sudge  a  h-air  ? " 
She  respired  a  sample  of  it.  "  Were  you  goin'  fin' 
sudge  a  so  ridge  groun'  ?  De  weed'  in  my  bag  yard 
is  twenny-five  feet  'igh  !  " 

"  Ah  !  maman  !  " 

"Twenty-six!"  said  Aurora,  correcting  herself. 
"Were  you  fin'  sudge  a  reever  lag  dad  Mississippi  ? 
On  dit"  she  said,  turning  to  Clotilde,  "  que  ses  eaux 
ont  la  propri'et'e  de  contribuer  meme  a  multiplier  V espece 
humaine  —  ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

Clotilde  turned  away  an  unmoved  countenance  to 
hear  Frowenfeld. 


Frowenfeld  makes  an    Argument      201 

Frowenfeld  had  contracted  a  habit  of  failing  into 
meditation  whenever  the  French  language  left  him 
out  of  the  conversation. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  breaking  a  contemplative  pause, 
"  the  climate  is  too  comfortable  and  the  soil  too  rich, 
—  though  I  do  not  think  it  is  entirely  on  their 
account  that  the  people  who  enjoy  them  are  so 
sadly  in  arrears  to  the  civilized  world."  He 
blushed  with  the  fear  that  his  talk  was  bookish,  and 
felt  grateful  to  Clotilde  for  seeming  to  understand 
his  speech. 

"Wad  you  fin'  de  rizzon  is,  'Sieur  Frowenfel' ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  philosophize,"  he  answered. 

"  Mais,  go  hon."  "  Mais,  go  ahade,"  said  both 
ladies,  settling  themselves. 

"  It  is  largely  owing,"  exclaimed  Frowenfeld,  with 
sudden  fervor,  "  to  a  defective  organization  of 
society,  which  keeps  this  community,  and  will  con- 
tinue to  keep  it  for  an  indefinite  time  to  come, 
entirely  unprepared  and  disinclined  to  follow  the 
course  of  modern  thought." 

"  Of  coze,"  murmured  Aurora,  who  had  lost  her 
bearings  almost  at  the  first  word. 

"  One  great  general  subject  of  thought  now  is 
human  rights,  —  universal  human  rights.  The 
entire  literature  of  the  world  is  becoming  tinctured 
with  contradictions  of  the  dogmas  upon  which 
society  in  this  section  is  built.  Human  rights  is, 
of  all  subjects,  the  one  upon  which  this  community 
is  most  violently  determined  to  hear  no  discussion. 


202  The  Grandissimes 

It  has  pronounced  that  slavery  and  caste  are  right, 
and  sealed  up  the  whole  subject.  What,  then,  will 
they  do  with  the  world's  literature  ?  They  will 
coldly  decline  to  look  at  it,  and  will  become,  more 
and  more  as  the  world  moves  on,  a  comparatively 
illiterate  people." 

"  Bud,  'Sieur  Frowenfel',"  said  Clotilde,  as  Frow- 
enfeld  paused  —  Aurora  was  stunned  to  silence, — 
"de  Unitee  State'  goin*  pud  doze  nigga'  free,  aind 
it?" 

Frowenfeld  pushed  his  hair  hard  back.  He  was 
in  the  stream  now,  and  might  as  well  go  through. 

"  I  have  heard  that  charge  made,  even  by  some 
Americans.  I  do  not  know.  But  there  is  a  slavery 
that  no  legislation  can  abolish,  —  the  slavery  of 
caste.  That,  like  all  the  slaveries  on  earth,  is  a 
double  bondage.  And  what  a  bondage  it  is  which 
compels  a  community,  in  order  to  preserve  its 
established  tyrannies,  to  walk  behind  the  rest  of  the 
intelligent  world  !  What  a  bondage  is  that  which 
incites  a  people  to  adopt  a  system  of  social  and  civil 
distinctions,  possessing  all  the  enormities  and  none 
of  the  advantages  of  those  systems  which  Europe  is 
learning  to  despise  !  This  system,  moreover,  is  only 
kept  up  by  a  flourish  of  weapons.  We  have  here 
what  you  may  call  an  armed  aristocracy.  The  class 
over  which  these  instruments  of  main  force  are  held 
is  chosen  for  its  servility,  ignorance,  and  cowardice; 
hence,  indolence  in  the  ruling  class.  When  a  man's 
social  or  civil  standing  is  not  dependent  on  his  know- 
ing how  to  read,  he  is  not  likely  to  become  a  scholar." 


Frowenfeld  makes  an  Argument       203 

"Of  coze,"  said  Aurora,  with  a  pensive  respira- 
tion, "  I  thing  id  is  doze  climade,"  and  the  apothe- 
cary stopped,  as  a  man  should  who  finds  himself 
unloading  large  philosophy  in  a  little  parlor. 

"  I  thing,  me,  dey  hought  to  pud  doze  quadroon' 
free  ?  "  It  was  Clotilde  who  spoke,  ending  with  the 
rising  inflection  to  indicate  the  tentative  character  of 
this  daringly  premature  declaration. 

Frowenfeld  did  not  answer  hastily. 

"  The  quadroons,"  said  he,  "  want  a  great  deal 
more  than  mere  free  papers  can  secure  them. 
Emancipation  before  the  law,  though  it  may  be  a 
right  which  man  has  no  right  to  withhold,  is  to 
them  little  more  than  a  mockery  until  they  achieve 
emancipation  in  the  minds  and  good  will  of  the 
people  —  'the  people,'  did  I  say?  I  mean  the 
ruling  class."  He  stopped  again.  One  must 
inevitably  feel  a  little  silly,  setting  up  tenpins  for 
ladies  who  are  too  polite,  even  if  able,  to  bowl  them 
down. 

Aurora  and  the  visitor  began  to  speak  simul- 
taneously ;  both  apologized,  and  Aurora  said  : 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  w'en  I  was  a  1  i  11  girl,"  — 
and  Frowenfeld  knew  that  he  was  going  to  hear 
the  story  of  Palmyre.  Clotilde  moved,  with  the 
obvious  intention  to  mend  the  fire.  Aurora  asked, 
in  French,  why  she  did  not  call  the  cook  to  do  it, 
and  Frowenfeld  said,  "  Let  me,"  —  threw  on  some 
wood,  and  took  a  seat  nearer  Clotilde.  Aurora  had 
the  floor. 


204  The  Grandissimes 


CHAPTER   XXV 

AURORA    AS     A    HISTORIAN 

Alas  !  the  phonograph  was  invented  three- 
quarters  of  a  century  too  late.  If  type  could 
entrap  one-half  the  pretty  oddities  of  Aurora's 
speech,  —  the  arch,  the  pathetic,  the  grave,  the 
earnest,  the  matter-of-fact,  the  ecstatic  tones  of 
her  voice,  —  nay,  could  it  but  reproduce  the  move- 
ment of  her  hands,  the  eloquence  of  her  eyes,  or 
the  shapings  of  her  mouth, —  ah  !  but  type  —  even 
the  phonograph  —  is  such  an  inadequate  thing ! 
Sometimes  she  laughed ;  sometimes  Clotilde,  unex- 
pectedly to  herself,  joined  her;  and  twice  or  thrice 
she  provoked  a  similar  demonstration  from  the  ox- 
like  apothecary, —  to  her  own  intense  amusement. 
Sometimes  she  shook  her  head  in  solemn  scorn ; 
and,  when  Frowenfeld,  at  a  certain  point  where 
Palmyre's  fate  locked  hands  for  a  time  with  that 
of  Bras-Coupe,  asked  a  fervid  question  concern- 
ing that  strange  personage,  tears  leaped  into  her 
eyes,   as  she  said  : 

"  Ah  !  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  iv  I  tra  to  tell  de  sto'y 
of  Bras-Coupe,  I  goin'  to  cry  lag  a  lill  bebby." 

The  account  of  the  childhood  days  upon  the 
plantation  at  Cannes  Brulees  may  be  passed  by. 
It  was  early  in  Palmyre's  fifteenth  year  that  that 
Kentuckian,  '  mutual  friend '  of  her  master  and 
Agricola,   prevailed  with   M.   de   Grapion   to   send 


Aurora  as  a  Historian  205 

her  to  the  paternal  Grandissime  mansion,  —  a  com- 
plimentary gift,  through  Agricola,  to  Mademoiselle, 
his  niece,  —  returnable  ten  years  after  date. 

The  journey  was  made  in  safety  ;  and,  by  and 
by,  Palmyre  was  presented  to  her  new  mistress.  The 
occasion  was  notable.  In  a  great  chair  in  the  centre 
sat  the  grandpere,  a  Chevalier  de  Grandissime,  whose 
business  had  narrowed  down  to  sitting  on  the  front 
veranda  and  wearing  his  decorations,  —  the  cross  of 
St.  Louis  being  one ;  on  his  right,  Colonel  Numa 
Grandissime,  with  one  arm  dropped  around 
Honore,  then  a  boy  of  Palmyre's  age,  expecting  to 
be  off  in  sixty  days  for  France;  and  on  the  left, 
with  Honore's  fair  sister  nestled  against  her, 
"  Madame  Numa,"  as  the  Creoles  would  call  her, 
a  stately  woman  and  beautiful,  a  great  admirer  of 
her  brother  Agricola.  (Aurora  took  pains  to  ex- 
plain that  she  received  these  minutiae  from  Palmyre 
herself  in  later  years.)  One  other  member  of  the 
group  was  a  young  don  of  some  twenty  years' 
age,  not  an  inmate  of  the  house,  but  only  a  cousin 
of  Aurora  on  her  deceased  mother's  side.  To 
make  the  affair  complete,  and  as  a  seal  to  this  tacit 
Grandissime-de-Grapion  treaty,  this  sole  available 
representative  of  the  "  other  side "  was  made  a 
guest  for  the  evening.  Like  the  true  Spaniard  that 
he  was,  Don  Jose  Martinez  fell  deeply  in  love  with 
Honore's  sister.  Then  there  came  Agricola  lead- 
ing in  Palmyre.  There  were  others,  for  the  Gran- 
dissime mansion  was  always  full  of  Grandissimes  ; 
but  this  was  the  central  group. 


206  The  Grandissimes 

In  this  house  Palmyre  grew  to  womanhood,  retain- 
ing without  interruption  the  place  into  which  she 
seemed  to  enter  by  right  of  indisputable  superiority 
over  all  competitors,  —  the  place  of  favorite  attend- 
ant to  the  sister  of  Honore.  Attendant,  we  say, 
for  servant  she  never  seemed.  She  grew  tall, 
arrowy,  lithe,  imperial,  diligent,  neat,  thorough, 
silent.  Her  new  mistress,  though  scarcely  at  all 
her  senior,  was  yet  distinctly  her  mistress  ;  she  had 
that  through  her  Fusilier  blood ;  experience  was 
just  then  beginning  to  show  that  the  Fusilier  Gran- 
dissime  was  a  superb  variety  ;  she  was  a  mistress 
one  could  wish  to  obey.  Palmyre  loved  her,  and 
through  her  contact  ceased,  for  a  time,  at  least,  to  be 
the  pet  leopard  she  had  been  at  the  Cannes  Brulees. 

Honore  went  away  to  Paris  only  sixty  days  after 
Palmyre  entered  the  house.  But  even  that  was  not 
soon  enough. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',"  said  Aurora,  in  her  recital, 
"Palmyre,  she  never  tole  me  dad,  mats  I  am  shoe, 
shoe  dad  she  fall  in  love  wid  Honore  Grandissime. 
'Sieur  Frowenfel',  I  thing  dad  Honore  Grandissime 
is  one  bad  man,  ent  it  ?  Whad  you  thing,  'Sieur 
Frowenfel'  ?  " 

"  I  think,  as  I  said  to  you  the  last  time,  that  he  is 
one  of  the  best,  as  I  know  that  he  is  one  of  the 
kindest  and  most  enlightened  gentlemen  in  the 
city,"  said  the  apothecary. 

"Ah,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  !   ha,  ha!" 

"  That  is  my  conviction." 

The  lady  went  on  with  her  story. 


Aurora  as  a  Historian  207 

"  Hanny'ow,  I  know  she  continue  in  love  wid  'im 
all  doze  ten  year'  w'at  'e  been  gone.  She  baig 
Mademoiselle  Grandissime  to  wrad  dad  ledder  to 
my  papa  to  ass  to  kip  her  two  years  mo'." 

Here  Aurora  carefully  omitted  that  episode  which 
Doctor  Keene  had  related  to  Frowenfeld,  —  her 
own  marriage  and  removal  to  Fausse  Riviere,  the 
visit  of  her  husband  to  the  city,  his  unfortunate  and 
finally  fatal  affair  with  Agricola,  and  the  surrender 
of  all  her  land  and  slaves  to  that  successful  duellist. 

M.  de  Grapion,  through  all  that,  stood  by  his 
engagement  concerning  Palmyre ;  and,  at  the  end 
of  ten  years,  to  his  own  astonishment,  responded 
favorably  to  a  letter  from  Honore's  sister,  irresist- 
ible for  its  goodness,  good  sense,  and  eloquent 
pleading,  asking  leave  to  detain  Palmyre  two  years 
longer;  but  this  response  came  only  after  the  old 
master  and  his  pretty,  stricken  Aurora  had  wept 
over  it  until  they  were  weak  and  gentle,  —  and  was 
not  a  response  either,  but  only  a  silent  consent. 

Shortly  before  the  return  of  Honore  —  and  here 
it  was  that  Aurora  took  up  again  the  thread  of  her 
account  —  while  his  mother,  long-widowed,  reigned 
in  the  paternal  mansion,  with  Agricola  for  her 
manager,  Bras-Coupe  appeared.  From  that  advent, 
and  the  long  and  varied  mental  sufferings  which  its 
consequences  brought  upon  her,  sprang  that  second 
change  in  Palmyre,  which  made  her  finally  untama- 
ble, and  ended  in  a  manumission,  granted  her 
more  for  fear  than  for  conscience'  sake.  When 
Aurora   attempted   to   tell   those  experiences,   even 


208  The  Grandissimes 

leaving  Bras-Coupe  as  much  as  might  be  out  of 
the  recital,  she  choked  with  tears  at  the  very  start, 
stopped,  laughed,  and  said  : 

"  C'est  tout —  daz  all.  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  oo  you 
fine  dad  pigtu'  to  loog  lag,  yonnah,  hon  de  wall  ? " 

She  spoke  as  if  he  might  have  overlooked  it, 
though  twenty  times,  at  least,  in  the  last  hour,  she 
had  seen  him  glance  at  it. 

"It  is  a  good  likeness,"  said  the  apothecary,  turn- 
ing to  Clotilde,  yet  showing  himself  somewhat 
puzzled   in   the  matter   of  the   costume. 

The  ladies  laughed. 

"  Daz  ma  grade-gran'-mamma,"  said  Clotilde. 

"  Dass  one  fille  a  la  cassette"  said  Aurora,  "  my 
gran'-muzzah ;  mais,  ad  de  sem  tam  id  is  Clotilde." 
She  touched  her  daughter  under  the  chin  with  a 
ringed  finger.     "  Clotilde  is  my  gran'-mamma." 

Frowenfeld  rose  to  go. 

"You  muz  come  again,  'Sieur  Frowenfel',"  said 
both  ladies,  in  a  breath. 

What  could  he  say  ? 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

A     RIDE    AND    A    RESCUE 

"  Douane  or  Bienville  ?  " 

Such  was  the  choice  presented  by  Honore  Gran- 
dissime  to  Joseph  Frowenfeld,  as  the  former  on  a 
lively  brown  colt  and  the  apothecary  on  a  nervy 
chestnut   fell   into  a  gentle,  preliminary  trot  while 


A  Ride  and  a  Rescue  209 

yet  in  the  rue  Royale,  looked  after  by  that  great 
admirer  of  both,  Raoul   Innerarity. 

"  Douane  ?  "  said  Frowenfeld.  (It  was  the  street 
we  call  Custom-house.) 

"  It  has  mud-holes,"  objected  Honore. 

"  Well,  then,  the  rue  du  Canal  ?  " 

"The  canal  —  I  can  smell  it  from  here.  Why 
not  rue   Bienville  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  said  he  did  not  know.  (We  give 
the  statement  for  what  it  is  worth.) 

Notice  their  route.  A  spirit  of  perversity  seems 
to  have  entered  into  the  very  topography  of  this 
quarter.  They  turned  up  the  rue  Bienville  (up  is 
toward  the  river) ;  reaching  the  levee,  they  took 
their  course  up  the  shore  of  the  Mississippi  (almost 
due  south),  and  broke  into  a  lively  gallop  on  the 
Tchoupitoulas  road,  which  in  those  days  skirted 
that  margin  of  the  river  nearest  the  sunsetting, 
namely,  the  eastern   bank. 

Conversation  moved  sluggishly  for  a  time,  halt- 
ing upon  trite  topics  or  swinging  easily  from 
polite  inquiry  to  mild  affirmation,  and  back  again. 
They  were  men  of  thought,  these  two,  and  one  of 
them  did  not  fully  understand  why  he  was  in  his 
present  position ;  hence  some  reticence.  It  was 
one  of  those  afternoons  in  early  March  that  make 
one  wonder  how  the  rest  of  the  world  avoids  emi- 
grating to   Louisiana  in  a  body. 

"  Is  not  the  season  early  ?  "  asked  Frowenfeld. 

M.  Grandissime  believed  it  was  ;  but  then  the 
Creole  spring  always  seemed  so,  he  said. 


2 1  o  The  Grandissimes 

The  land  was  an  inverted  firmament  of  flowers. 
The  birds  were  an  innumerable,  busy,  joy-compel- 
ling multitude,  darting  and  fluttering  hither  and 
thither,  as  one  might  imagine  the  babes  do  in 
heaven.  The  orange-groves  were  in  blossom ; 
their  dark-green  boughs  seemed  snowed  upon  from 
a  cloud  of  incense,  and  a  listening  ear  might  catch 
an  incessant,  whispered  trickle  of  falling  petals, 
dropping  "  as  the  honey-comb."  The  magnolia 
was  beginning  to  add  to  its  dark  and  shining  ever- 
green foliage  frequent  sprays  of  pale  new  leaves 
and  long,  slender,  buff  buds  of  others  yet  to  come. 
The  oaks,  both  the  bare-armed  and  the  "  green- 
robed  senators,"  the  willows,  and  the  plaqueminiers, 
were  putting  out  their  subdued  florescence  as  if 
they  smiled  in  grave  participation  with  the  laugh- 
ing gardens.  The  homes  that  gave  perfection  to 
this  beauty  were  those  old,  large,  belvidered  colo- 
nial villas,  of  which  you  may  still  here  and  there 
see  one  standing,  battered  into  half  ruin,  high  and 
broad,  among  foundries,  cotton-  and  tobacco-sheds, 
junk-yards,  and  longshoremen's  hovels,  like  one 
unconquered  elephant  in  a  wreck  of  artillery.  In 
Frowenfeld's  day  the  "smell  of  their  garments 
was  like  Lebanon."  They  were  seen  by  glimpses 
through  chance  openings  in  lofty  hedges  of  Chero- 
kee-rose or  bois-d'arc,  under  boughs  of  cedar  or 
pride-of-China,  above  their  groves  of  orange  or 
down  their  long,  overarched  avenues  of  oleander  ; 
and  the  lemon  and  the  pomegranate,  the  banana, 
the  fig,  the  shaddock,  and  at  times  even  the  mango 


A  Ride  and  a  Rescue  21  1 

and  the  guava,  joined  "hands  around"  and  tossed 
their  fragrant  locks  above  the  lilies  and  roses. 
Frowenfeld  forgot  to  ask  himself  further  concern- 
ing the  probable  intent  of  M.  Grandissime's  invi- 
tation to  ride ;  these  beauties  seemed  rich  enough 
in  good  reasons.      He  felt  glad  and  grateful. 

At  a  certain  point  the  two  horses  turned  of  their 
own  impulse,  as  by  force  of  habit,  and  with  a  few 
clambering  strides  mounted  to  the  top  of  the  levee 
and  stood  still,  facing  the  broad,  dancing,  hurrying, 
brimming   river. 

The  Creole  stole  an  amused  glance  at  the  elated, 
self- forgetful  look  of  his  immigrant  friend. 

"  Mr.  Frowenfeld,"  he  said,  as  the  delighted 
apothecary  turned  with  unwonted  suddenness  and 
saw  his  smile,  "  I  believe  you  like  this  better  than 
discussion.  You  find  it  easier  to  be  in  harmony 
with  Louisiana  than  with  Louisianians,  eh  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  colored  with  surprise.  Something 
unpleasant  had  lately  occurred  in  his  shop.  Was 
this  to  signify  that  M.  Grandissime  had  heard  of  it? 

"  I  am  a  Louisianian,"  replied  he,  as  if  this  were 
a  point  assailed. 

"  I  would  not  insinuate  otherwise,"  said  M. 
Grandissime,  with  a  kindly  gesture.  "I  would  like 
you  to  feel  so.  We  are  citizens  now  of  a  different 
government  from  that  under  which  we  lived  the 
morning  we  first  met.  Yet  "  —  the  Creole  paused 
and  smiled  —  "  you  are  not,  and  I  am  glad  you  are 
not,  what  we  call  a  Louisianian." 

Frowenfeld's  color  increased.    He  turned  quickly 


212  The  Grandissimes 

in  his  saddle  as  if  to  say  something  very  positive, 
but  hesitated,  restrained  himself  and  asked : 

"  Mr.  Grandissime,  is  not  your  Creole  'we'  a 
word  that  does  much  damage  ?" 

The  Creole's  response  was  at  first  only  a  smile, 
followed  by  a  thoughtful  countenance ;  but  he  pres- 
ently said,  with  some  suddenness  : 

"  My-de'-seh,  yes.  Yet  you  see  I  am,  even 
this  moment,  forgetting  we  are  not  a  separate 
people.  Yes,  our  Creole  '  we '  does  damage,  and 
our  Creole  '  you '  does  more.  I  assure  you,  sir,  I 
try  hard  to  get  my  people  to  understand  that  it  is 
time  to  stop  calling  those  who  come  and  add  them- 
selves to  the  community,  aliens,  interlopers,  in- 
vaders. That  is  what  I  hear  my  cousins,  'Polyte 
and  Sylvestre,  in  the  heat  of  discussion,  called  you 
the  other  evening  ;  is  it  so  ?  " 

"  I  brought  it  upon  myself,"  said  Frowenfeld. 
"  I  brought   it  upon    myself." 

"  Ah  !  "  interrupted  M.  Grandissime,  with  a  broad 
smile,  "  excuse  me  —  I  am  fully  prepared  to  believe 
it.  But  the  charge  is  a  false  one.  I  told  them  so. 
My-de'-seh  —  I  know  that  a  citizen  of  the  United 
States  in  the  United  States  has  a  right  to  become, 
and  to  be  called,  under  the  laws  governing  the  case, 
a  Louisianian,  a  Vermonter,  or  a  Virginian,  as  it 
may  suit  his  whim ;  and  even  if  he  should  be  found 
dishonest  or  dangerous,  he  has  a  right  to  be  treated 
just  exactly  as  we  treat  the  knaves  and  ruffians  who 
are  native  born  !  Every  discreet  man  must  admit 
that." 


A  Ride  and  a  Rescue  2 1  3 

"  But  if  they  do  not  enforce  it,  Mr.  Grandis- 
sime,"  quickly  responded  the  sore  apothecary,  "  if 
they  continually  forget  it  —  if  one  must  surrender 
himself  to  the  errors  and  crimes  of  the  community 
as  he  finds  it " 

The  Creole  uttered  a  low  laugh. 

"  Party  differences,  Mr.  Frowenfeld  ;  they  have 
them  in  all  countries." 

"  So  your  cousins  said,"  said  Frowenfeld. 

"  And  how  did  you  answer  them  ? " 

"  Offensively,"  said  the  apothecary,  with  sincere 
mortification. 

"  Oh !  that  was  easy,"  replied  the  other, 
amusedly  ;    "  but    how?  " 

"  I  said  that,  having  here  only  such  party  dif- 
ferences as  are  common  elsewhere,  we  do  not  be- 
have as  they  elsewhere  do  ;  that  in  most  civilized 
countries  the  immigrant  is  welcome,  but  here  he  is 
not.  I  am  afraid  I  have  not  learned  the  art  of 
courteous  debate,"  said  Frowenfeld,  with  a  smile 
of  apology. 

"  'T  is  a  great  art,"  said  the  Creole,  quietly,  strok- 
ing his  horse's  neck.  "  I  suppose  my  cousins 
denied    your  statement    with    indignation,   eh?" 

"  Yes ;  they  said  the  honest  immigrant  is  always 
welcome." 

"  Well,  do  you  not  find  that  true  ?  " 

"  But,  Mr.  Grandissime,  that  is  requiring  the 
immigrant  to  prove  his  innocence  !  "  Frowenfeld 
spoke  from  the  heart.  "  And  even  the  honest 
immigrant    is    welcome    only   when    he    leaves    his 


214  The  Grandissimes 

peculiar  opinions  behind  him.  Is  that  right, 
sir?  " 

The  Creole  smiled  at  Frowenfeld's  heat. 

"  My-de'-seh,  my  cousins  complain  that  you 
advocate  measures  fatal  to  the  prevailing  order  of 
society." 

"  But,"  replied  the  unyielding  Frowenfeld,  turn- 
ing redder  than  ever,  "  that  is  the  very  thing  that 
American  liberty  gives  me  the  right — peaceably  — 
to  do  !  Here  is  a  structure  of  society  defective, 
dangerous,  erected  on  views  of  human  relations 
which  the  world  is  abandoning  as  false ;  yet  the 
immigrant's  welcome  is  modified  with  the  warning 
not  to  touch  these  false  foundations  with  one  of  his 
fingers." 

"  Did  you  tell  my  cousins  the  foundations  of 
society  here  are  false  ?  " 

"  I  regret  to  say  I  did,  very  abruptly.  I  told 
them  they  were  privately  aware  of  the  fact." 

"  You  may  say,"  said  the  ever-amiable  Creole, 
"  that  you  allowed  debate  to  run  into  controversy, 
eh?" 

Frowenfeld  was  silent ;  he  compared  the  gen- 
tleness of  this  Creole's  rebukes  with  the  asperity 
of  his  advocacy  of  right,  and  felt  humiliated.  But 
M.  Grandissime  spoke  with  a  rallying  smile. 

"  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  you  never  make  pills  with 
eight  corners  eh  ? " 

"  No,  sir."     The  apothecary  smiled. 

"  No,  you  make  them  round  ;  cannot  you  make 
your  doctrines  the    same    way?      My-de'-seh,  you 


A  Ride  and  a  Rescue  215 

will  think  me  impertinent ;  but  the  reason  I  speak 
is  because  I  wish  very  much  that  you  and  my 
cousins  would  not  be  offended  with  each  other. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  my-de'-seh,  I  hoped  to  use 
you  with  them — pardon  my  frankness." 

"  If  Louisiana  had  more  men  like  you,  M. 
Grandissime,"  cried  the  untrained  Frowenfeld, 
"  society  would  be  less  sore   to  the  touch." 

"  My-de'-seh,"  said  the  Creole,  laying  his  hand 
out  toward  his  companion  and  turning  his  horse  in 
such  a  way  as  to  turn  the  other  also,  "  do  me  one 
favor  ;  remember  that  it  is  sore  to  the  touch." 

The  animals  picked  their  steps  down  the  inner 
face  of  the  levee  and  resumed  their  course  up  the 
road  at  a  walk. 

"  Did  you  see  that  man  just  turn  the  bend  of  the 
road,  away  yonder  ?  "  the  Creole  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  Did  you  recognize  him  ?  " 

"It  was  —  my  landlord,  was  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Did  he  not  have  a  conversation  with  you 
lately,  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"It  has  had  a  bad  effect  on  him.  I  wonder  why 
he  is  out  here  on  foot?  " 

The  horses  quickened  their  paces.  The  two 
friends  rode  along  in  silence.  Frowenfeld  noticed 
his  companion  frequently  cast  an  eye  up  along  the 
distant  sunset  shadows  of  the  road  with  a  new 
anxiety.  Yet,  when  M.  Grandissime  broke  the 
silence  it  was  only  to  say  : 


2i6  The  Grandissimes 

"  I  suppose  you  find  the  blemishes  in  our  state 
of  society  can  all  be  attributed  to  one  main  defect, 
Mr.  Frowenfeld  ? " 

Frowenfeld  was  glad  of  the  chance  to  answer : 

"  I  have  not  overlooked  that  this  society  has 
disadvantages  as  well  as  blemishes ;  it  is  distant 
from  enlightened  centres  ;  it  has  a  language  and 
religion  different  from  that  of  the  great  people  of 
which  it  is  now  called  to  be  a  part.  That  it  has 
also  positive  blemishes  of  organism " 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  the  Creole,  smiling  at  the 
immigrant's  sudden  magnanimity,  "  its  positive 
blemishes ;  do  they  all  spring  from  one  main 
defect  ? " 

"  I  think  not.  The  climate  has  its  influence,  the 
soil  has  its  influence  —  dwellers  in  swamps  cannot 
be  mountaineers." 

"But  after  all,"  persisted  the  Creole,  "the  greater 
part  of  our  troubles  comes  from " 

"  Slavery,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "  or  rather  caste." 

"  Exactly,"  said  M.  Grandissime. 

"  You  surprise  me,  sir,"  said  the  simple  apothe- 
cary.    "  I  supposed  you  were " 

"  My-de'-seh,"  exclaimed  M.  Grandissime,  sud- 
denly becoming  very  earnest,  "  I  am  nothing,  noth- 
ing !  There  is  where  you  have  the  advantage  of 
me.  I  am  but  a  dilettante,  whether  in  politics,  in 
philosophy,  morals,  or  religion.  I  am  afraid  to  go 
deeply  into  anything,  lest  it  should  make  ruin  in 
my  name,  my  family,  my  property." 

He  laughed  unpleasantly. 


A  Ride  and  a  Rescue  2 1 7 

The  question  darted  into  Frowenfeld's  mind, 
whether  this  might  not  be  a  hint  of  the  matter  that 
M.  Grandissime  had  been  trying  to  see  him  about. 

"Mr.  Grandissime,"  he  said,  "I  can  hardly 
believe  you  would  neglect  a  duty  either  for  family, 
property,  or  society." 

"  Well,  you  mistake,"  said  the  Creole,  so  coldly 
that  Frowenfeld  colored. 

They  galloped  on.  M.  Grandissime  brightened 
again,  almost  to  the  degree  of  vivacity.  By  and  by 
they  slackened  to  a  slow  trot  and  were  silent.  The 
gardens  had  been  long  left  behind,  and  they  were 
passing  between  continuous  Cherokee-rose  hedges 
on  the  right  and  on  the  left,  along  that  bend  of  the 
Mississippi  where  its  waters,  glancing  off  three 
miles  above  from  the  old  De  Macarty  levee  (now 
Carrollton),  at  the  slightest  opposition  in  the  breeze 
go  whirling  and  leaping  like  a  herd  of  dervishes 
across  to  the  ever-crumbling  shore,  now  marked  by 
the  little  yellow  depot-house  of  Westwego.  Miles 
up  the  broad  flood  the  sun  was  disappearing  gor- 
geously. From  their  saddles,  the  two  horsemen 
feasted  on  the  scene  without  comment. 

But  presently,  M.  Grandissime  uttered  a  low 
ejaculation  and  spurred  his  horse  toward  a  tree  hard 
by,  preparing,  as  he  went,  to  fasten  his  rein  to  an 
overhanging  branch.  Frowenfeld,  agreeable  to  his 
beckon,  imitated  the  movement. 

"  I  fear  he  intends  to  drown  himself,"  whispered 
M.  Grandissime,  as  they  hurriedly  dismounted. 

"Who?     Not " 


2 1 8  The  Grandissimes 

"Yes,  your  landlord,  as  you  call  him.  He  is  on 
the  flatboat ;  I  saw  his  hat  over  the  levee.  When 
we  get  on  top  the  levee,  we  must  get  right  into  it. 
But  do  not  follow  him  into  the  water  in  front  of  the 
flat;  it  is  certain  death;  no  power  of  man  could 
keep  you  from- going  under  it." 

The  words  were  quickly  spoken ;  they  scrambled 
to  the  levee's  crown.  Just  abreast  of  them  lay  a 
flatboat,  emptied  of  its  cargo  and  moored  to  the 
levee.  They  leaped  into  it.  A  human  figure 
swerved  from  the  onset  of  the  Creole  and  ran 
toward  the  bow  of  the  boat,  and  in  an  instant  more 
would  have  been  in  the  river. 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Frowenfeld,  seizing  the  unresisting 
f.  m.  c.  firmly  by  the  collar. 

Honore  Grandissime  smiled,  partly  at  the  apothe- 
cary's brief  speech,  but  much  more  at  his  success. 

"  Let  him  go,  Mr.  Frowenfeld,"  he  said,  as  he 
came  near. 

The  silent  man  turned  away  his  face  with  a  gesture 
of  shame. 

M.  Grandissime,  in  a  gentle  voice,  exchanged  a 
few  words  with  him,  and  he  turned  and  walked 
away,  gained  the  shore,  descended  the  levee,  and 
took  a  foot-path  which  soon  hid  him  behind  a 
hedge. 

"  He  gives  his  pledge  not  to  try  again,"  said  the 
Creole,  as  the  two  companions  proceeded  to  resume 
the  saddle.  "  Do  not  look  after  him."  (Joseph 
had  cast  a  searching  look  over  the  hedge.) 

They  turned  homeward. 


A  Ride  and  a  Rescue 


219 


"Ah!  Mr.  Frowenfeld,"  said  the  Creole,  sud- 
denly, "  if  the  immigrant  has  cause  of  complaint, 
how  much  more  has  that  man  !  True,  it  is  only 
love  for  which  he  would  have  just  now  drowned 
himself;  yet  what  an  accusation,  my-de'-seh,  is  his 
whole  life  against  that  'caste'  which  shuts  him  up 
within  its  narrow  and  almost  solitary  limits  !  And 
yet,  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  this  people  esteem  this  very 
same  crime  of  caste  the  holiest  and  most  precious 
of  their  virtues.  My-de'-seh,  it  never  occurs  to  us 
that  in  this  matter  we  are  interested,  and  therefore 
disqualified,  witnesses.  We  say  we  are  not  under- 
stood ;  that  the  jury  (the  civilized  world)  renders 
its  decision  without  viewing  the  body ;  that  we  are 
judged  from  a  distance.  We  forget  that  we  our- 
selves are  too  close  to  see  distinctly,  and  so  continue, 
a  spectacle  to  civilization,  sitting  in  a  horrible  dark- 
ness, my-de'-seh  !  "      He  frowned. 

"  The  shadow  of  the  Ethiopian,"  said  the  grave 
apothecary. 

M.  Grandissime's  quick  gesture  implied  that 
Frowenfeld  had  said  the  very  word. 

"  Ah  !  my-de'-seh,  when  I  try  sometimes  to  stand 
outside  and  look  at  it,  I  am  ama-aze  at  the  length, 
the  blackness  of  that  shadow!"  (He  was  so  deeply 
in  earnest  that  he  took  no  care  of  his  English.) 
"  It  is  the  Nemesis  w'ich,  instead  of  coming  afteh, 
glides  along  by  the  side  of  this  morhal,  political, 
commercial,  social  mistake  !  It  blanches,  my-de'- 
seh,  ow  whole  civilization  !  It  drhags  us  a  centurhy 
behind    the  rhes'  of  the  world  !      It  rhetahds   and 


220  The  Grandissimes 

poisons  everhy  industrhy  we  got!  —  mos'  of  all 
our-h  immense  agrhicultu'e  !  It  brheeds  a  thousan' 
cusses  that  nevva  leave  home  but  jus'  flutter-h  up 
an'  rhoost,  my-de'-seh,  on  ow  heads ;  an'  we  nevva 
know  it  !  —  yes,  sometimes  some  of  us  know  it." 

He  changed  the  subject. 

They  had  repassed  the  ruins  of  Fort  St.  Louis, 
and  were  well  within  the  precincts  of  the  little  city, 
when,  as  they  pulled  up  from  a  final  gallop,  mention 
was  made  of  Doctor  Keene.  He  was  improving ; 
Honore  had  seen  him  that  morning;  so,  at  another 
hour,  had  Frowenfeld.  Doctor  Keene  had  told 
Honore  about  Palmyre's  wound. 

"You  was  at  her  house  again  this  morning?" 
asked  the  Creole. 

"  Yes,"  said  Frowenfeld. 

M.  Grandissime  shook  his  head  warningly. 

"'Tis  a  dangerous  business.  You  are  almost 
sure  to  become  the  object  of  slander.  You  ought 
to  tell  Doctor  Keene  to  make  some  other  arrange- 
ment, or  presently  you,  too,  will  be  under  the  —  " 
he  lowered  his  voice,  for  Frowenfeld  was  dismount- 
ing at  the  shop  door,  and  three  or  four  acquaint- 
ances stood  around  —  "  under  the  '  shadow  of  the 
Ethiopian.'  " 


The  Fete  de  Grandpere  221 

CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE    FETE     DE    GRANDPERE 

Sojourners  in  New  Orleans  who  take  their  after- 
noon drive  down  Esplanade  street  will  notice,  across 
on  the  right,  between  it  and  that  sorry  streak  once 
fondly  known  as  Champs  Elysees,  two  or  three 
large,  old  houses,  rising  above  the  general  surround- 
ings and  displaying  architectural  features  which 
identify  them  with  an  irrevocable  past  —  a  past 
when  the  faithful  and  true  Creole  could,  without 
fear  of  contradiction,  express  his  religious  belief  that 
the  antipathy  he  felt  for  the  Americain  invader  was 
an  inborn  horror  laid  lengthwise  in  his  ante-natal 
bones  by  a  discriminating  and  appreciative  Provi- 
dence. There  is,  for  instance,  or  was  until  lately, 
one  house  which  some  hundred  and  fifteen  years 
ago  was  the  suburban  residence  of  the  old  sea-captain 
governor,  Kerlerec.  It  stands  up  among  the 
oranges  as  silent  and  gray  as  a  pelican,  and,  so  far 
as  we  know,  has  never  had  one  cypress  plank  added 
or  subtracted  since  its  master  was  called  to  France 
and  thrown  into  the  Bastile.  Another  has  two 
dormer  windows  looking  out  westward,  and,  when 
the  setting  sun  strikes  the  panes,  reminds  one  of  a 
man  with  spectacles  standing  up  in  an  audience, 
searching  for  a  friend  who  is  not  there  and  will 
never  come  back.  These  houses  are  the  last  re- 
maining—  if,   indeed,   they  were   not   pulled   down 


222  The  Grandissimes 

yesterday  —  of  a  group  that  once  marked  from  afar 
the  direction  of  the  old  highway  between  the  city's 
walls  and  the  suburb  St.  Jean.  Here  clustered  the 
earlier  aristocracy  of  the  colony ;  all  that  pretty 
crew  of  counts,  chevaliers,  marquises,  colonels, 
dons,  etc.,  who  loved  their  kings,  and  especially 
their  kings'  moneys,  with  an  abandon  which  affected 
the  accuracy  of  nearly  all  their  accounts. 

Among  these  stood  the  great  mother-mansion  of 
the  Grandissimes.  Do  not  look  for  it  now ;  it  is 
quite  gone.  The  round,  white-plastered  brick  pil- 
lars which  held  the  house  fifteen  feet  up  from  the 
reeking  ground  and  rose  on  loftily  to  sustain  the 
great  overspreading  roof,  or  clustered  in  the  cool, 
paved  basement ;  the  lofty  halls,  with  their  multitu- 
dinous glitter  of  gilded  brass  and  twinkle  of  sweet- 
smelling  wax-candles ;  the  immense  encircling 
veranda,  where  twenty  Creole  girls  might  walk 
abreast ;  the  great  front  stairs,  descending  from  the 
veranda  to  the  garden,  with  a  lofty  palm  on  either 
side,  on  whose  broad  steps  forty  Grandissimes  could 
gather  on  a  birthday  afternoon ;  and  the  belvidere, 
whence  you  could  see  the  cathedral,  the  Ursulines', 
the  governor's  mansion,  and  the  river,  far  away, 
shining  between  the  villas  of  Tchoupitoulas  Coast 
—  all  have  disappeared  as  entirely  beyond  recall  as 
the  flowers  that  bloomed  in  the  gardens  on  the  day 
of  this/?/^  de  grandpere. 

Odd  to  say,  it  was  not  the  grandpere's  birthday 
that  had  passed.  For  weeks  the  happy  children  of 
the  many  Grandissime  branches  —  the   Mandarins, 


The  Fete  de  Grandpere  223 

the  St.  Blancards,  the  Brahmins  —  had  been  stand- 
ing with  their  uplifted  arms  apart,  awaiting  the  signal 
to  clap  hands  and  jump,  and  still,  from  week,  to 
week,  the  appointed  day  had  been  made  to  fall  back, 
and  fall  back  before  —  what  think  you  ?  —  an  inabil- 
ity to  understand  Honore. 

It  was  a  sad  paradox  in  the  history  of  this  majes- 
tic old  house  that  her  best  child  gave  her  the  most 
annoyance ;  but  it  had  long  been  so.  Even  in 
Honore's  early  youth,  a  scant  two  years  after  she 
had  watched  him,  over  the  tops  of  her  green  myrtles 
and  white  and  crimson  oleanders,  go  away,  a  lad  of 
fifteen,  supposing  he  would  of  course  come  back  a 
Grandissime  of  the  Grandissimes  —  an  inflexible  of 
the  inflexibles  —  he  was  found  "inciting"  (so  the 
stately  dames  and  officials  who  graced  her  front 
veranda  called  it)  a  Grandissime-De  Grapion  recon- 
ciliation by  means  of  transatlantic  letters,  and  re- 
ducing the  flames  of  the  old  feud,  rekindled  by  the 
Fusilier-Nancanou  duel,  to  a  little  foul  smoke. 
The  main  difficulty  seemed  to  be  that  Honore  could 
net  be  satisfied  with  a  clean  conscience  as  to  his 
own  deeds  and  the  peace  and  fellowships  of  single 
households;  his  longing  was,  and  had  ever  been  — 
he  had  inherited  it  from  his  father  —  to  see  one 
unbroken  and  harmonious  Grandissime  family  gath- 
ering yearly  under  this  venerated  roof  without  re- 
proach before  all  persons,  classes,  and  races  with 
whom  they  had  ever  had  to  do.  It  was  not  hard 
for  the  old  mansion  to  forgive  him  once  or  twice ; 
but  she  had  had  to  do  it  often.     It  seems  no  over- 


224  The  Grandissimes 

stretch  of  fancy  to  say  she  sometimes  gazed  down 
upon  his  erring  ways  with  a  look  of  patient  sadness 
in  her  large  and  beautiful  windows. 

And  how  had  that  forbearance  been  rewarded  ? 
Take  one  short  instance  :  when,  seven  years  before 
this  present  fete  de  grandpere,  he  came  back  from 
Europe,  and  she  (this  old  home  which  we  cannot 
help  but  personify),  though  in  trouble  then  —  a 
trouble  that  sent  up  the  old  feud  flames  again  — 
opened  her  halls  to  rejoice  in  him  with  the  joy  of 
all  her  gathered  families,  he  presently  said  such 
strange  things  in  favor  of  indiscriminate  human 
freedom  that  for  very  shame's  sake  she  hushed 
them  up,  in  the  fond  hope  that  he  would  outgrow 
such  heresies.  But  he?  On  top  of  all  the  rest,  he 
declined  a  military  commission  and  engaged  in 
commerce  —  "  shop-keeping,  parbleu  !  " 

However,  therein  was  developed  a  grain  of  con- 
solation.    Honore  became  —  as  he  chose  to  call  it 

—  more  prudent.  With  much  tact,  Agricola  was 
amiably  crowded  off  the  dictator's  chair,  to  become, 
instead,  a  sort  of  seneschal.  For  a  time  the  family 
peace  was  perfect,  and  Honore,  by  a  touch  here 
to-day  and  a  word  there  to-morrow,  was  ever  lift- 
ing the  name,  and  all  who  bore  it,  a  little  and  a 
little  higher;  when  suddenly,  as  in  his  father's  day 

—  that  dear  Numa  who  knew  how  to  sacrifice  his 
very  soul,  as  a  sort  of  Iphigenia  for  the  propitiation 
of  the  family  gods  —  as  in  Numa's  day  came  the 
cession  to  Spain,  so  now  fell  this  other  cession,  like 
an   unexpected   tornado,  threatening  the  wreck  of 


The  Fete  de  Grandpere  225 

her  children's  slave-schooners  and  the  prostration 
alike  of  their  slave-made  crops  and  their  Spanish 
liberties  ;  and  just  in  the  fateful  moment  where 
Numa  would  have  stood  by  her,  Honore  had  let 
go.     Ah,  it  was  bitter  ! 

"  See  what  foreign  education  does  ! "  cried  a 
Mandarin  de  Grandissime  of  the  Baton  Rouge 
Coast.  "I  am  sorry  now" — derisively — "that 
I  never  sent  my  boy  to  France,  am  I  not  ?  No  ! 
No-0-0 !  I  would  rather  my  son  should  never 
know  how  to  read,  than  that  he  should  come  back 
from  Paris  repudiating  the  sentiments  and  preju- 
dices of  his  own  father.  Is  education  better  than 
family  peace  ?  Ah,  bah  !  My  son  make  friends 
with  Americains  and  tell  me  they  —  that  call  a 
negro  '  monsieur  '  —  are  as  good  as  his  father  ? 
But  that  is  what  we  get  for  letting  Honore  be- 
come a  merchant.  Ha  !  the  degradation  !  Shak- 
ing hands  with  men  who  do  not  believe  in  the 
slave  trade  !  Shake  hands  ?  Yes  ;  associate  — 
fraternize  !  with  apothecaries  and  negrophiles.  And 
now  we  are  invited  to  meet  at  the  fete  de  grand- 
fere,  in  the  house  where  he  is  really  the  chief — the 
cacique  !  " 

No  !  The  family  would  not  come  together  on 
the  first  appointment ;  no,  nor  on  the  second ;  no, 
not  if  the  grandpapa  did  express  his  wish  ;  no,  nor 
on  the  third — nor  on  the  fourth. 

"  Non,  Messieurs  !  "  cried  both  youth  and  reckless 
age ;  and,  sometimes,  also,  the  stronger  heads  of 
the  family,  the  men  of  means,  of  force  and  of  in- 
'5 


226  The  Grandissimes 

fluence,  urged  on  from  behind  by  their  proud  and 
beautiful  wives  and  daughters. 

Arms,  generally,  rather  than  heads,  ruled  there 
in  those  days.  Sentiments  (which  are  the  real 
laws)  took  shape  in  accordance  with  the  poetry, 
rather  than  the  reason,  of  things,  and  the  commu- 
nity recognized  the  supreme  domination  of  "  the 
gentleman "  in  questions  of  right  and  of  "  the 
ladies"  in  matters  of  sentiment.  Under  such  con- 
ditions strength  establishes  over  weakness  a  showy 
protection  which  is  the  subtlest  of  tyrannies,  yet 
which,  in  the  very  moment  of  extending  its  arm 
over  woman,  confers  upon  her  a  power  which  a 
truer  freedom  would  only  diminish  ;  constitutes 
her  in  a  large  degree  an  autocrat  of  public  senti- 
ment and  thus  accepts  her  narrowest  prejudices 
and  most  belated  errors  as  veriest  need-be's  of 
social  life. 

The  clans  classified  easily  into  three  groups ; 
there  were  those  who  boiled,  those  who  stewed, 
and  those  who  merely  steamed  under  a  close  cover. 
The  men  in  the  first  two  groups  were,  for  the  most 
part,  those  who  were  holding  office  under  old 
Spanish  commissions,  and  were  daily  expecting 
themselves  to  be  displaced  and  Louisiana  thereby 
ruined.  The  steaming  ones  were  a  goodly  fraction 
of  the  family  —  the  timid,  the  apathetic,  the  "  con- 
servative." The  conservatives  found  ease  better 
than  exactitude,  the  trouble  of  thinking  great,  the 
agony  of  deciding  harrowing,  and  the  alternative  of 
smiling  cynically  and  being  liberal  so  much  easier 


The  Fete  de  Grandpere  227 

—  and  the  warm  weather  coming  on  with  a  rapidity 
wearying  to  contemplate. 

"  The  Yankee  was  an  inferior  animal." 

"  Certainly." 

"  But  Honore  had  a  right  to  his  convictions." 

"  Yes,  that  was  so,  too." 

"It  looked  very  traitorous,  however." 

"  Yes,  so  it  did." 

"  Nevertheless,  it  might  turn  out  that  Honore 
was  advancing  the  true  interests  of  his  people." 

"  Very  likely." 

"It  would  not  do  to  accept  office  under  the 
Yankee  government." 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  Yet  it  would  never  do  to  let  the  Yankees  get 
the  offices,  either." 

"  That  was  true  ;  nobody  could  deny  that." 

"If  Spain  or  France  got  the  country  back,  they 
would  certainly  remember  and  reward  those  who 
had  held  out  faithfully." 

"  Certainly  !  That  was  an  old  habit  with  France 
and  Spain." 

"  But  if  they  did  not  get  the  country  back " 

"Yes,  that  is  so;  Honore  is  a  very  good  fellow, 
and " 

And,  one  after  another,  under  the  mild  coolness 
of  Honore's  amiable  disregard,  their  indignation 
trickled  back  from  steam  to  water,  and  they  went 
on  drawing  their  stipends,  some  in  Honore's  count- 
ing-room, where  they  held  positions,  some  from 
the  provisional  government,  which  had  as  yet  made 


228  The  Grandissimes 

but  few  changes,  and  some,  secretly,  from  the  cun- 
ning Casa-Calvo  ;  for,  blow  the  wind  east  or  blow 
the  wind  west,  the  affinity  of  the  average  Grandis- 
sime  for  a  salary  abideth  forever. 

Then,  at  the  right  moment,  Honore  made  a 
single  happy  stroke,  and  even  the  hot  Grandis- 
simes, they  of  the  interior  parishes  and  they  of 
Agricola's  squadron,  slaked  and  crumbled  when  he 
wrote  each  a  letter  saying  that  the  governor  was 
about  to  send  them  appointments,  and  that  it  would 
be  well,  if  they  wished  to  evade  them,  to  write  the 
governor  at  once,  surrendering  their  present  com- 
missions. Well !  Evade  ?  They  would  evade 
nothing  !  Do  you  think  they  would  so  belittle 
themselves  as  to  write  to  the  usurper?  They 
would   submit  to   keep  the   positions  first. 

But  the  next  move  was  Honore's  making  the 
whole  town  aware  of  his  apostasy.  The  great 
mansion,  with  the  old  grandpere  sitting  out  in  front, 
shivered.  As  we  have  seen,  he  had  ridden  through 
the  Place  d'Armes  with  the  arch-usurper  himself. 
Yet,  after  all,  a  Grandissime  would  be  a  Gran- 
dissime  still  ;  whatever  he  did  he  did  openly.  And 
was  n't  that  glorious  —  never  to  be  ashamed  of 
anything,  no  matter  how  bad  ?  It  was  not  every- 
one who  could  ride  with  the  governor. 

And  blood  was  so  much  thicker  than  vinegar 
that  the  familv,  that  would  not  meet  either  in 
January  or  February,  met  in  the  first  week  of 
March,  every  constituent  one  of  them. 

The  feast  has  been  eaten.     The  garden   now  is 


The  Fete  de  Grandpere  229 

joyous  with  children  and  the  veranda  resplendent 
with  ladies.  From  among  the  latter  the  eye  quickly 
selects  one.  She  is  perceptibly  taller  than  the 
others ;  she  sits  in  their  midst  near  the  great  hall 
entrance ;  and  as  you  look  at  her  there  is  no  claim 
of  ancestry  the  Grandissimes  can  make  which  you 
would  not  allow.  Her  hair,  once  black,  now  lifted 
up  into  a  glistening  snow-drift,  augments  the 
majesty  of  a  still  beautiful  face,  while  her  full  stat- 
ure and  stately  bearing  suggest  the  finer  parts  of 
Agricola,  her  brother.  It  is  Madame  Grandissime, 
the  mother  of  Honore. 

One  who  sits  at  her  left,  and  is  very  small,  is  a 
favorite  cousin.  On  her  right  is  her  daughter,  the 
widowed  senora  of  Jose  Martinez ;  she  has  won- 
derful black  hair  and  a  white  brow  as  wonderful. 
The  commanding  carriage  of  the  mother  is  tem- 
pered in  her  to  a  gentle  dignity  and  calm,  contrast- 
ing pointedly  with  the  animated  manners  of  the 
courtly  matrons  among  whom  she  sits,  and  whose 
continuous  conversation  takes  this  direction  or 
that,  at  the  pleasure  of  Madame  Grandissime. 

But  if  you  can  command  your  powers  of  atten- 
tion, despite  those  children  who  are  shouting  Creole 
French  and  sliding  down  the  rails  of  the  front  stair, 
turn  the  eye  to  the  laughing  squadron  of  beautiful 
girls,  which  every  few  minutes,  at  an  end  of  the 
veranda,  appears,  wheels  and  disappears,  and  you 
note,  as  it  were  by  flashes,  the  characteristics  ot 
face  and  figure  that  mark  the  Louisianaises  in  the 
perfection  of  the  new-blown  flower.     You  see  that 


230 


The  Grandissimes 


blondes  are  not  impossible ;  there,  indeed,  are  two 
sisters  who  might  be  undistinguishable  twins  but 
that  one  has  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair.  You  note 
the  exquisite  pencilling  of  their  eyebrows,  here  and 
there  some  heavier  and  more  velvety,  where  a  less 
vivacious  expression  betrays  a  share  of  Spanish 
blood.  As  Grandissimes,  you  mark  their  tendency 
to  exceed  the  medium  Creole  stature,  an  appear- 
ance heightened  by  the  fashion  of  their  robes. 
There  is  scarcely  a  rose  in  all  their  cheeks,  and  a 
full  red-ripeness  of  the  lips  would  hardly  be  in 
keeping;  but  there  is  plenty  of  life  in  their  eyes, 
which  glance  out  between  the  curtains  of  their  long 
lashes  with  a  merry  dancing  that  keeps  time  to  the 
prattle  of  tongues.  You  are  not  able  to  get  a 
straight  look  into  them,  and  if  you  could  you 
would  see  only  your  own  image  cast  back  in  piti- 
ful miniature ;  but  you  turn  away  and  feel,  as  you 
fortify  yourself  with  an  inward  smile,  that  they 
know  you,  you  man,  through  and  through,  like  a 
little  song.  And  in  turning,  your  sight  is  glad  to 
rest  again  on  the  face  of  Honore's  mother.  You 
see,  this  time,  that  she  is  his  mother,  by  a  charm 
you  had  overlooked,  a  candid,  serene  and  lovable 
smile.  It  is  the  wonder  of  those  who  see  that 
smile  that  she  can  ever  be  harsh. 

The  playful,  mock-martial  tread  of  the  delicate 
Creole  feet  is  all  at  once  swallowed  up  by  the  sound 
of  many  heavier  steps  in  the  hall,  and  the  fathers, 
grandfathers,  sons,  brothers,  uncles  and  nephews 
of  the  great  family  come  out,  not  a  man  of  them 


The  Fete  de  Grandpere  231 

that  cannot,  with  a  little  care,  keep  on  his  feet. 
Their  descendants  of  the  present  day  sip  from 
shallower  glasses  and  with  less  marked  results. 

The  matrons,  rising,  offer  the  chief  seat  to  the 
first  comer,  the  great-grandsire  —  the  oldest  living 
Grandissime  —  Alcibiade,  a  shaken  but  unfallen 
monument  of  early  colonial  days,  a  browned  and 
corrugated  souvenir  of  De  Vaudreuil's  pomps,  of 
O'Reilly's  iron  rule,  of  Galvez'  brilliant  wars  —  a 
man  who  had  seen  Bienville  and  Zephyr  Grandis- 
sime. With  what  splendor  of  manner  Madame 
Fusilier  de  Grandissime  offers,  and  he  accepts,  the 
place  of  honor !  Before  he  sits  down  he  pauses 
a  moment  to  hear  out  the  companion  on  whose 
arm  he  had  been  leaning.  But  Theophile,  a  dark, 
graceful  youth  of  eighteen,  though  he  is  recounting 
something  with  all  the  oblivious  ardor  of  his  kind, 
becomes  instantly  silent,  bows  with  grave  deference 
to  the  ladies,  hands  the  aged  forefather  gracefully  to 
his  seat,  and  turning,  recommences  the  recital  before 
one  who  hears  all  with  the  same  perfect  courtesy  — 
his  beloved  cousin   Honore. 

Meanwhile,  the  gentlemen  throng  out.  Gallant 
crew !  These  are  they  who  have  been  pausing 
proudly  week  after  week  in  an  endeavor  (?)  to  un- 
derstand the  opaque  motives  of  Numa's  son. 

In  the  middle  of  the  veranda  pauses  a  tall,  mus- 
cular man  of  fifty,  with  the  usual  smooth  face  and 
an  iron-gray  queue.  That  is  Colonel  Agamemnon 
Brahmin  de  Grandissime,  purveyor  to  the  family's 
military   pride,   conservator    of  its    military    glory, 


232  The  Grandissimes 

and,  after  Honore,  the  most  admired  of  the  name. 
Achille  Grandissime,  he  who  took  Agricola  away 
from  Frowenfeld's  shop  in  the  carriage,  essays 
to  engage  Agamemnon  in  conversation,  and  the 
colonel,  with  a  glance  at  his  kinsman's  nether  limbs 
and  another  at  his  own,  and  with  that  placid  facil- 
ity with  which  the  graver  sort  of  Creoles  take  up 
the  trivial  topics  of  the  lighter,  grapples  the  sub- 
ject of  boots.  A  tall,  bronzed,  slender  young  man, 
who  prefixes  to  Grandissime  the  maternal  St.  Blan- 
card,  asks  where  his  wife  is,  is  answered  from  a 
distance,  throws  her  a  kiss  and  sits  down  on  a  step, 
with  Jean  Baptiste  de  Grandissime,  a  piratical-look- 
ing black-beard,  above  him,  and  Alphonse  Mandarin, 
an  olive-skinned  boy,  below.  Valentine  Grandis- 
sime, of  Tchoupitoulas,  goes  quite  down  to  the 
bottom  of  the  steps  and  leans  against  the  balus- 
trade. He  is  a  large,  broad-shouldered,  well-built 
man,  and,  as  he  stands  smoking  a  cigar,  with  his 
black-stockinged  legs  crossed,  he  glances  at  the 
sky  with  the  eye  of  a  hunter — or,  it  may  be,  of  a 
sailor. 

"  Valentine  will  not  marry,"  says  one  of  two 
ladies  who  lean  over  the  rail  of  the  veranda  above. 
"  I  wonder  why." 

The  other  fixes  on  her  a  meaning  look,  and  she 
twitches  her  shoulders  and  pouts,  seeing  she  has 
asked  a  foolish  question,  the  answer  to  which  would 
only  put  Valentine  in  a  numerous  class  and  do  him 
no  credit. 

Such  were  the  choice  spirits  of  the  family.     Agric- 


The  Fete  de  Grandpere  233 

ola  had  retired.  Raoul  was  there ;  his  pretty 
auburn  head  might  have  been  seen  about  half- 
way up  the  steps,  close  to  one  well  sprinkled  with 
premature  gray. 

"  No  such  thing  !  "   exclaimed  his  companion. 

(The  conversation  was  entirely  in  Creole  French.) 

"  I  give  you  my  sacred  word  of  honor !  "  cried 
Raoul. 

"  That  Honore  is  having  all  his  business  carried 
on  in  English  ?  "  asked  the  incredulous  Sylvestre. 
(Such  was  his   name.) 

"I  swear  —  "replied  Raoul,  resorting  to  his 
favorite  pledge — "on  a  stack  of  Bibles  that  high!" 

"Ah-h-h-h,  pf-f-f-f-f!" 

This  polite  expression  of  unbelief  was  further 
emphasized  by  a  spasmodic  flirt  of  one  hand,  with 
the  thumb  pointed  outward. 

"  Ask  him  !  ask  him  !  "  cried  Raoul. 

"  Honore  !  "  called  Sylvestre,  rising  up.  Two 
or  three  persons  passed  the  call  around  the  corner 
of  the  veranda. 

Honore  came  with  a  chain  of  six  girls  on  either 
arm.  By  the  time  he  arrived,  there  was  a  Babel  of 
discussion. 

"  Raoul  says  you  have  ordered  all  your  books 
and  accounts  to  be  written  in  English,"  said  Syl- 
vestre. 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  true,  is  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

The    entire  veranda    of  ladies   raised   one    long- 


234  The  Grandissimes 

drawn,  deprecatory  "  Ah  !  "  except  Honore's 
mother.  She  turned  upon  him  a  look  of  silent 
but  intense  and  indignant  disappointment. 

"  Honore  !  "  cried  Sylvestre,  desirous  of  repairing 
his  defeat,  "  Honore  !  " 

But  Honore  was  receiving  the  clamorous  abuse 
of  the  two  half  dozens  of  girls. 

"  Honore ! "  cried  Sylvestre  again,  holding  up  a 
torn  scrap  of  writing-paper  which  bore  the  marks 
of  the  counting-room  floor  and  of  a  boot-heel, 
"  how  do  you  spell  '  la-dee  ?  '  ' 

There  was  a  moment's  hush  to  hear  the  answer. 

"  Ask  Valentine,"  said  Honore. 

Everybody  laughed  aloud.  That  taciturn  man's 
only  retort  was  to  survey  the  company  above  him 
with  an  unmoved  countenance,  and  to  push  the 
ashes  slowly  from  his  cigar  with  his  little  finger. 
M.  Valentine  Grandissime,  of  Tchoupitoulas,  could 
not  read. 

"  Show  it  to  Agricola,"  cried  two  or  three,  as 
that  great  man  came  out  upon  the  veranda,  heavy- 
eyed,  and  with  tumbled  hair. 

Sylvestre,  spying  Agricola's  head  beyond  the 
ladies,  put  the  question. 

"  How  is  it  spelled  on  that  paper?  "  retorted  the 
king  of  beasts. 

«  L-a-y " 

"  Ignoramus  !  "  growled  the  old  man. 

"  I  did  not  spell  it,"  cried  Raoul,  and  attempted 
to  seize  the  paper.  But  Sylvestre  throwing  his 
hand  behind  him,  a  lady  snatched  the  paper,  two 


The  Fete  de  Grandpere  235 

or  three  cried  "  Give  it  to  Agricola  !  "  and  a  pretty 
boy,  whom  the  laughter  and  excitement  had  lured 
from  the  garden,  scampered  up  the  steps  and 
handed  it  to  the  old  man. 

"  Honore!  "  cried  Raoul,  "it  must  not  be  read. 
It  is  one  of  your  private  matters." 

But  Raoul 's  insinuation  that  anybody  would 
entrust  him  with  a  private  matter  brought  another 
laugh. 

Honore  nodded  to  his  uncle  to  read  it  out, 
and  those  who  could  not  understand  English,  as 
well  as  those  who  could,  listened.  It  was  a  paper 
Svlvestre  had  picked  out  of  a  waste-basket  on  the 
day  of  Aurore's  visit  to  the  counting-room.  Agric- 
ola read  : 

"  What  is  that  layde  want  in  thare  with  Honore  ?  " 
"  Honore    is  goin  giv    her  bac    that  proprety  —  that    is 
Aurore  De  Grapion  what  Agricola  kill  the  husband." 

That  was  the  whole  writing,  but  Agricola  never 
finished.  He  was  reading  aloud  —  "  that  is  Aurore 
De  Grap " 

At  that  moment  he  dropped  the  paper  and 
blackened  with  wrath ;  a  sharp  flash  of  astonish- 
ment ran  through  the  company ;  an  instant  of 
silence  followed  and  Agricola's  thundering  voice 
rolled  down  upon  Sylvestre  in  a  succession  of 
terrible  imprecations. 

It  was  painful  to  see  the  voung  man's  face  as, 
speechless,  he  received  this  abuse.  He  stood  pale 
and    frightened,    with     a    smile    playing    about    his 


236  The  Grandissimes 

mouth,  half  of  distress  and  half  of  defiance,  that 
said  as  plain  as  a  smile  could  say,  "  Uncle  Agricola, 
you  will  have  to  pay  for  this  mistake." 

As  the  old  man  ceased,  Sylvestre  turned  and 
cast  a  look  downward  to  Valentine  Grandissime, 
then  walked  up  the  steps,  and  passing  with  a 
courteous  bow  through  the  group  that  surrounded 
Agricola,  went  into  the  house.  Valentine  looked 
at  the  zenith,  then  at  his  shoe-buckles,  tossed  his 
cigar  quietly  into  the  grass  and  passed  around  a 
corner  of  the  house  to  meet  Sylvestre  in  the  rear. 

Honore  had  already  nodded  to  his  uncle  to  come 
aside  with  him,  and  Agricola  had  done  so.  The 
rest  of  the  company,  save  a  few  male  figures  down 
in  the  garden,  after  some  feeble  efforts  to  keep  up 
their  spirits  on  the  veranda,  remarked  the  growing 
coolness  or  the  waning  daylight,  and  singly  or  in 
pairs  withdrew.  It  was  not  long  before  Raoul, 
who  had  come  up  upon  the  veranda,  was  left  alone. 
He  seemed  to  wait  for  something,  as,  leaning  over 
the  rail  while  the  stars  came  out,  he  sang  to  himself, 
in  a  soft  undertone,  a  snatch  of  a  Creole  song : 

"  La  pluie  —  la  pluie  tombait, 
Crapaud  criait, 
Moustique  chantait " 

The  moon  shone  so  brightly  that  the  children  in 
the  garden  did  not  break  off  their  hide-and-seek, 
and  now  and  then  Raoul  suspended  the  murmur 
of  his  song,  absorbed  in  the  fate  of  some  little  elf 
gliding  from  one  black  shadow  to  crouch  in  another. 


The  Fete  de  Grandpere  237 

He  was  himself  in  the  deep  shade  of  a  magnolia, 
over  whose  outer  boughs  the  moonlight  was  trick- 
ling, as  if  the  whole  tree  had  been  dipped  in 
quicksilver. 

In  the  broad  walk  running  down  to  the  garden 
gate  some  six  or  seven  dark  forms  sat  in  chairs,  not 
too  far  away  for  the  light  of  their  cigars  to  be 
occasionally  seen  and  their  voices  to  reach  his  ear; 
but  he  did  not  listen.  In  a  little  while  there  came 
a  light  footstep,  and  a  soft,  mock-starded  "  Who  is 
that  ?  "  and  one  of  that  same  sparkling  group  of 
girls  that  had  lately  hung  upon  Honore  came  so 
close  to  Raoul,  in  her  attempt  to  discern  his  linea- 
ments, that  their  lips  accidentally  met.  They  had 
but  a  moment  of  hand-in-hand  converse  before 
they  were  hustled  forth  by  a  feminine  scouting 
party  and  thrust  along  into  one  of  the  great  rooms 
of  the  house,  where  the  youth  and  beauty  of  the 
Grandissimes  were  gathered  in  an  expansive  semi- 
circle around  a  languishing  fire,  waiting  to  hear  a 
story,  or  a  song,  or  both,  or  half  a  dozen  of  each, 
from  that  master  of  narrative  and  melody,  Raoul 
Innerarity. 

"  But  mark,"  they  cried  unitedly,  "  you  have  got 
to  wind  up  with  the  story  of  Bras-Coupe  !  " 

"  A  song  !  A  song  !  " 

"  Une  chanson  Creole  !   Une  chanson  des  negres  !  " 

"  Sing  cye  tole  dance  la  doung  y  doung  doung  ! '  " 
cried  a  black-eyed  girl. 

Raoul  explained  that  it  had  too  many  objec- 
tionable   phrases. 


238  The  Grandissimes 

"  Oh,  just  hum  the  objectionable  phrases  and  go 
right  on." 

But  instead  he  sang  them  this  : 

"La  premier'  fois  mo  te  '  oir  li, 
Li  te  pose  au  bord  so  lit ; 
Mo  di' ,  Bouzon,  be!  n'amourese  ! 
L'aut'  fois  li  te  si'  so  la  saise 
Comme  vie  Madam  dans  so  fauteil, 
Quand  li  viv'e  cote  soleil. 

So  gi'es  ye  te  plis  noir  passe  la  nouitte, 

So  d'e  la  lev'  plis  doux  passe  la  quitte  ! 

Tou'  mo  la  vie,  zamein  mo  oir 

Ein  n'amourese  zoli  comme  ca! 

Mo'  bli'e  manze  —  mo'  bli'e  boir'  — 
Mo'  bli'e  tout  dipi  f'  temps-la  — 
Mo'  bli'e  parle  —  mo'  bli'e  dormi, 
Quand  mo  pense  apr'es  zamil " 

"  And  you  have  heard  Bras-Coupe  sing  that, 
yourself?  " 

"  Once  upon  a  time,"  said  Raoul,  warming  with 
his  subject,  "  we  were  coming  down  from  Pointe 
Macarty  in  three  pirogues.  We  had  been  three 
days  fishing  and  hunting  in  Lake  Salvador.  Bras- 
Coupe  had  one  pirogue  with  six  paddles " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  cried  a  youth  named  Baltazar;  "  sing 
that,  Raoul  !  " 

And  he  sang  that. 

"  But  oh,  Raoul,  sing  that  song  the  negroes  sing 
when  they  go  out  in  the  bayous  at  night,  stealing 
pigs  and  chickens  !  " 


The  Fete  de  Grandpere 


239 


"  That  boat  song,  do  you  mean,  which  they  sing 
as  a  signal  to  those  on  shore  ?  "      He  hummed. 


fmrrrw^-t-f-t&^m 


1 


it  r.  r  r—+    „  0jf--^— * — * 

fo  1/     1/     v     1  _g    l\\      I E^£ 


t=t 


^f=e=M^^f  c  r  ^Jtrtrn 


"De  zabs,  de  zabs,  de  counou  ouaie  ouaie, 
De  zabs,  de  zabs,  de  counou  ouaie  ouaie, 
Counou  ouaie  ouaie  ouaie  ouaie, 
Counou  ouaie  ouaie  ouaie  ouaie, 
Counou  ouaie,  ouaie  ouaie,  momza  ; 
Momza,  momza,  momza,  momza, 
Roza,  roza,  roza-et — momza." 

This  was  followed  by  another  and  still  another, 
until  the  hour  began  to  grow  late.  And  then  they 
gathered  closer  around  him  and  heard  the  promised 
story.  At  the  same  hour  Honore  Grandissime, 
wrapping  himself  in  a  greatcoat  and  giving  himself 
up  to  sad  and  somewhat  bitter  reflections,  had 
wandered  from  the  paternal  house,  and  by  and  by 
from  the  grounds,  not  knowing  why  or  whither, 
but  after  a  time  soliciting,  at  Frowenfeld's  closing 
door,  the  favor  of  his  company.  He  had  been  feel- 
ing a  kind  of  suffocation.     This  it  was  that  made 


240  The  Grandissimes 

him  seek  and  prize  the  presence  and  hand-grasp  of 
the  inexperienced  apothecary.  He  led  him  out  to 
the  edge  of  the  river.  Here  they  sat  down,  and 
with  a  laborious  attempt  at  a  hard  and  jesting  mood, 
Honore  told  the  same  dark  story. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

THE    STORY    OF    BRAS-COUPE 

"A  very  little  more  than  eight  years  ago,"  began 
Honore  —  but  not  only  Honore,  but  Raoul  also; 
and  not  only  they,  but  another,  earlier  on  the  same 
day,  —  Honore,  the  f.  m.  c.  But  we  shall  not 
exactly  follow  the  words   of  any  one  of  these. 

Bras-Coupe,  they  said,  had  been,  in  Africa  and 
under  another  name,  a  prince  among  his  people. 
In  a  certain  war  of  conquest,  to  which  he  had  been 
driven  by  ennui,  he  was  captured,  stripped  of  his 
royalty,  marched  down  upon  the  beach  of  the 
Atlantic,  and,  attired  as  a  true  son  of  Adam,  with 
two  goodly  arms  intact,  became  a  commodity. 
Passing  out  of  first  hands  in  barter  for  a  looking- 
glass,  he  was  shipped  in  good  order  and  condition 
on  board  the  good  schooner  Egalite,  whereof  Blank 
was  master,  to  be  delivered  without  delay  at  the 
port  of  Nouvelle  Orleans  (the  dangers  of  fire  and 
navigation  excepted),  unto  Blank  Blank.  In  wit- 
ness whereof,  He  that  made  men's  skins  of  different 
colors,  but  all  blood  of  one,  hath   entered  the  same 


The  Story  of"  Bras-Coupe  241 

upon  His  book,  and  sealed  it  to  the  day  of  judg- 
ment. 

Of  the  voyage  little  is  recorded  —  here  below  ; 
the  less  the  better.  Part  of  the  living  merchandise 
failed  to  keep ;  the  weather  was  rough,  the  cargo 
large,  the  vessel  small.  However,  the  captain  dis- 
covered there  was  room  over  the  side,  and  there  — 
all  flesh  is  grass  —  from  time  to  time  during  the 
voyage  he  jettisoned  the  unmerchantable. 

Yet,  when  the  reopened  hatches  let  in  the  sweet 
smell  of  the  land,  Bras-Coupe  had  come  to  the 
upper  —  the  favored  —  the  buttered  side  of  the 
world;  the  anchor  slid  with  a  rumble  of  relief  down 
through  the  muddy  fathoms  of  the  Mississippi,  and 
the  prince  could  hear  through  the  schooner's  side 
the  savage  current  of  the  river,  leaping  and  licking 
about  the  bows,  and  whimpering  low  welcomes 
home.  A  splendid  picture  to  the  eyes  of  the  royal 
captive,  as  his  head  came  up  out  of  the  hatchway, 
was  the  little  Franco-Spanish-American  city  that 
lay  on  the  low,  brimming  bank.  There  were  little 
forts  that  showed  their  whitewashed  teeth ;  there 
was  a  green  parade-ground,  and  yellow  barracks, 
and  cabildo,  and  hospital,  and  cavalry  stables,  and 
custom-house,  and  a  most  inviting  jail,  convenient 
to  the  cathedral  — all  of  dazzling  white  and  yellow, 
with  a  black  stripe  marking  the  track  of  the  confla- 
gration of  1794,  and  here  and  there  among  the  low 
roofs  a  lofty  one  with  round-topped  dormer  windows 
and  a  breezy  belvidere  looking  out  upon  the  plant- 
ations of  coffee  and  indigo  beyond  the  town. 


242  The  Grandissimes 

When  Bras-Coupe  staggered  ashore,  he  stood  but 
a  moment  among  a  drove  of  "  likely  boys,"  before 
Agricola  Fusilier,  managing  the  business  adventures 
of  the  Grandissime  estate,  as  well  as  the  residents 
thereon,  and  struck  with  admiration  for  the  physical 
beauties  of  the  chieftain  (a  man  may  even  fancy  a 
negro — as  a  negro),  bought  the  lot,  and,  loth  to 
resell  him  with  the  rest  to  some  unappreciative 
'Cadian,  induced  Don  Jose  Martinez'  overseer  to 
become  his  purchaser. 

Down  in  the  rich  parish  of  St.  Bernard  (whose 
boundary  line  now  touches  that  of  the  distended 
city)  lay  the  plantation,  known  before  Bras-Coupe 
passed  away  as  La  Renaissance.  Here  it  was  that 
he  entered  at  once  upon  a  chapter  of  agreeable  sur- 
prises. He  was  humanely  met,  presented  with  a 
clean  garment,  lifted  into  a  cart  drawn  by  oxen, 
taken  to  a  whitewashed  cabin  of  logs,  finer  than  his 
palace  at  home,  and  made  to  comprehend  that  it 
was  a  free  gift.  He  was  also  given  some  clean  food, 
whereupon  he  fell  sick.  At  home  it  would  have 
been  the  part  of  piety  for  the  magnate  next  the 
throne  to  launch  him  heavenward  at  once  ;  but  now, 
healing  doses  were  administered,  and  to  his  amaze- 
ment he  recovered.  It  reminded  him  that  he  was 
no  longer  king. 

His  name,  he  replied  to  an  inquiry  touching  that 

subject,   was ,    something    in    the    Jaloff" 

tongue,  which  he  by  and  by  condescended  to  render 
into  Congo:  Mioko-Koanga;  in  French  Bras-Coupe  ; 
the  Arm  Cut  Off".     Truly  it  would  have  been  easy 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  243 

to  admit,  had  this  been  his  meaning,  that  his  tribe, 
in  losing  him,  had  lost  its  strong  right  arm  close 
off  at  the  shoulder;  not  so  easy  for  his  high-paying 
purchaser  to  allow,  if  this  other  was  his  intent : 
that  the  arm  which  might  no  longer  shake  the  spear 
or  swing  the  wooden  sword  was  no  better  than  a 
useless  stump  never  to  be  lifted  for  aught  else. 
But  whether  easy  to  allow  or  not,  that  was  his 
meaning.  He  made  himself  a  type  of  all  Slavery, 
turning  into  flesh  and  blood  the  truth  that  all 
Slavery  is  maiming. 

He  beheld  more  luxury  in  a  week  than  all  his 
subjects  had  seen  in  a  century.  Here  Congo  girls 
were  dressed  in  cottons  and  flannels  worth,  where 
he  came  from,  an  elephant's  tusk  apiece.  Every- 
body wore  clothes  —  children  and  lads  alone  ex- 
cepted. Not  a  lion  had  invaded  the  settlement 
since  his  immigration.  The  serpents  were  as 
nothing ;  an  occasional  one  coming  up  through 
the  floor  —  that  was  all.  True,  there  was  more 
emaciation  than  unassisted  conjecture  could  ex- 
plain—  a  profusion  of  enlarged  joints  and  dimin- 
ished muscles,  which,  thank  God,  was  even  then 
confined  to  a  narrow  section  and  disappeared  with 
Spanish  rule.  He  had  no  experimental  knowledge 
of  it;  nay,  regular  meals,  on  the  contrary,  gave 
him  anxious  concern,  yet  had  the  effect  —  spite  of 
his  apprehension  that  he  was  being  fattened  for  a 
purpose  —  of  restoring  the  herculean  puissance 
which  formerly  in  Africa  had  made  him  the  terror 
of  the  battle. 


244  The  Grandissimes 

When  one  day  he  had  come  to  be  quite  himself, 
he  was  invited  out  into  the  sunshine,  and  escorted 
by  the  driver  (a  sort  of  foreman  to  the  overseer), 
went  forth  dimly  wondering.  They  reached  a  field 
where  some  men  and  women  were  hoeing.  He 
had  seen  men  and  women  —  subjects  of  his  —  labor 
—  a  little  —  in  Africa.  The  driver  handed  him  a 
hoe  ;  he  examined  it  with  silent  interest —  until  by 
signs  he  was  requested  to  join  the  pastime. 

"  What  ? " 

He  spoke,  not  with  his  lips,  but  with  the  recoil 
of  his  splendid  frame  and  the  ferocious  expansion 
of  his  eyes.  This  invitation  was  a  cataract  of  light- 
ning leaping  down  an  ink-black  sky.  In  one  in- 
stant of  all-pervading  clearness  he  read  his  sentence 
— Work. 

Bras-Coupe  was  six  feet  five.  With  a  sweep  as 
quick  as  instinct  the  back  of  the  hoe  smote  the 
driver  full  in  the  head.  Next,  the  prince  lifted  the 
nearest  Congo  crosswise,  brought  thirty-two  teeth 
together  in  his  wildly  kicking  leg  and  cast  him  away 
as  a  bad  morsel ;  then,  throwing  another  into  the 
branches  of  a  willow,  and  a  woman  over  his  head 
into  a  draining-ditch,  he  made  one  bound  for  free- 
dom, and  fell  to  his  knees,  rocking  from  side  to 
side  under  the  effect  of  a  pistol-ball  from  the  over- 
seer. It  had  struck  him  in  the  forehead,  and  run- 
ning around  the  skull  in  search  of  a  penetrable  spot, 
tradition  —  which  sometimes  jests —  says  came  out 
despairingly,  exactly  where  it  had  entered. 

It   so    happened   that,   except    the   overseer,   the 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  245 

whole  company  were  black.  Why  should  the 
trivial  scandal  be  blabbed  ?  A  plaster  or  two  made 
everything  even  in  a  short  time,  except  in  the 
driver's  case  —  for  the  driver  died.  The  woman 
whom  Bras-Coupe  had  thrown  over  his  head  lived 
to  sell  calas  to  Joseph  Frowenfeld. 

Don  Jose,  young  and  austere,  knew  nothing 
about  agriculture  and  cared  as  much  about  human 
nature.  The  overseer  often  thought  this,  but 
never  said  it ;  he  would  not  trust  even  himself 
with  the  dangerous  criticism.  When  he  ventured 
to  reveal  the  foregoing  incidents  to  the  senor  he 
laid  all  the  blame  possible  upon  the  man  whom 
death  had  removed  beyond  the  reach  of  correction, 
and  brought  his  account  to  a  climax  by  hazarding 
the  asserting  that  Bras-Coupe  was  an  animal  that 
could  not  be  whipped. 

"  Caramba  !  "  exclaimed  the  master,  with  gentle 
emphasis,  "  how  so  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  senor  had  better  ride  down  to  the 
quarters,"  replied  the  overseer. 

It  was  a  great  sacrifice  of  dignity,  but  the  master 
made  it. 

"  Bring  him  out." 

They  brought  him  out  —  chains  on  his  feet, 
chains  on  his  wrists,  an  iron  yoke  on  his  neck. 
The  Spanish  Creole  master  had  often  seen  the  bull, 
with  his  long,  keen  horns  and  blazing  eye,  standing 
in  the  arena  ;  but  this  was  as  though  he  had  come 
face  to  face  with  a  rhinoceros. 

"  This  man  is  not  a  Congo,"  he  said. 


246  The  Grandissimes 

"  He  is  a  Jaloff,"  replied  the  encouraged  over- 
seer. "See  his  fine,  straight  nose;  moreover,  he  is 
a  candio  —  a  prince.      If  I  whip  him  he  will  die." 

The  dauntless  captive  and  fearless  master  stood 
looking  into  each  other's  eyes  until  each  recognized 
in  the  other  his  peer  in  physical  courage,  and  each 
was  struck  with  an  admiration  for  the  other  which 
no  after  difference  was  sufficient  entirely  to  destroy. 
Had  Bras-Coupe's  eye  quailed  but  once — just  for 
one  little  instant —  he  would  have  got  the  lash  ; 
but,  as  it  was 

"  Get  an  interpreter,"  said  Don  Jose;  then,  more 
privately,  "  and  come  to  an  understanding.  I  shall 
require  it  of  you." 

Where  might  one  find  an  interpreter — one  not 
merely  able  to  render  a  Jaloff 's  meaning  into  Creole 
French,  or  Spanish,  but  with  such  a  turn  for  dip- 
lomatic correspondence  as  would  bring  about  an 
"understanding"  with  this  African  buffalo?  The 
overseer  was  left  standing  and  thinking,  and  Cle- 
mence,  who  had  not  forgotten  who  threw  her  into 
the  draining-ditch,  cunningly  passed  by. 

"Ah,  Clemence " 

"  Mo  pas  capabe  !  Mo  pas  capabe  !  (I  cannot, 
I  cannot!)  Ta,  ya,  ya  !  'oir  Mich'e  Agricol'  Fusi- 
lier! ouala  yune  bon  monture,  oui !  "  —  which  was  to 
signify  that  Agricola  could  interpret  the  very  Papa 
Lebat. 

"Agricola  Fusilier!  The  last  man  on  earth  to 
make  peace." 

But  there  seemed  to  be  no  choice,  and  to  Agric- 


The  Story  of  Bras- Coupe  247 

ola  the  overseer  went.  It  was  but  a  little  ride  to 
the  Grandissime  place. 

"  I,  Agricola  Fusilier,  stand  as  an  interpreter  to 
a  negro  ?     H-sir  !  " 

"  But  I  thought  you  might  know  of  some  per- 
son," said  the  weakening  applicant,  rubbing  his  ear 
with  his  hand. 

"  Ah  ! "  replied  Agricola,  addressing  the  sur- 
rounding scenery,  "if  I  did  not  —  who  would? 
You  may  take  Palmyre." 

The  overseer  softly  smote  his  hands  together  at 
the  happy  thought. 

"  Yes,"  said  Agricola,  "  take  Palmyre  ;  she  has 
picked  up  as  many  negro  dialects  as  I  know  Euro- 
pean languages." 

And  she  went  to  the  don's  plantation  as  inter- 
preter, followed  by  Agricola's  prayer  to  Fate  that 
she  might  in  some  way  be  overtaken  by  disaster. 
The  two  hated  each  other  with  all  the  strength  they 
had.  He  knew  not  only  her  pride,  but  her  pas- 
sion for  the  absent  Honore.  He  hated  her,  also, 
for  her  intelligence,  for  the  high  favor  in  which  she 
stood  with  her  mistress,  and  for  her  invincible 
spirit,  which  was  more  offensively  patent  to  him 
than  to  others,  since  he  was  himself  the  chief  object 
of  her  silent  detestation. 

It  was  Palmyre's  habit  to  do  nothing  without 
painstaking.  "  When  Mademoiselle  comes  to  be 
Sefiora,"  thought  she  —  she  knew  that  her  mistress 
and  the  don  were  affianced  —  "it  will  be  well  to 
have  a   Sefior's  esteem.      I  shall  endeavor  to  sue- 


248  The  Grandissimes 

ceed."  It  was  from  this  motive,  then,  that  with 
the  aid  of  her  mistress  she  attired  herself  in  a 
resplendence  of  scarlet  and  beads  and  feathers  that 
could  not  fail  the  double  purpose  of  connecting  her 
with  the  children  of  Ethiopia  and  commanding  the 
captive's  instant  admiration. 

Alas  for  those  who  succeed  too  well !  No 
sooner  did  the  African  turn  his  tiger  glance  upon 
her  than  the  fire  of  his  eyes  died  out;  and  when 
she  spoke  to  him  in  the  dear  accents  of  his  native 
tongue,  the  matter  of  strife  vanished  from  his  mind. 
He  loved. 

He  sat  down  tamely  in  his  irons  and  listened  to 
Palmyre's  argument  as  a  wrecked  mariner  would 
listen  to  ghostly  church-bells.  He  would  give  a 
short  assent,  feast  his  eyes,  again  assent,  and  feast 
his  ears  ;  but  when  at  length  she  made  bold  to 
approach  the  actual  issue,  and  finally  uttered  the 
loathed  word,  Work,  he  rose  up,  six  feet  five,  a 
statue  of  indignation  in  black  marble. 

And  then  Palmyre,  too,  rose  up,  glorying  in 
him,  and  went  to  explain  to  master  and  overseer. 
Bras-Coupe  understood,  she  said,  that  he  was  a 
slave  —  it  was  the  fortune  of  war,  and  he  was  a  war- 
rior ;  but,  according  to  a  generally  recognized  prin- 
ciple in  African  international  law,  he  could  not 
reasonably   be  expected  to  work. 

"  As  Senor  will  remember  I  told  him,"  remarked 
the  overseer ;  "  how  can  a  man  expect  to  plow  with 
a  zebra  ?  " 

Here  he  recalled  a  fact  in  his  earlier  experience. 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  249 

An  African  of  this  stripe  had  been  found  to  answer 
admirably  as  a  "  driver  "  to  make  others  work.  A 
second  and  third  parley,  extending  through  two  or 
three  days,  were  held  with  the  prince,  looking  to 
his  appointment  to  the  vacant  office  of  driver ;  yet 
what  was  the  master's  amazement  to  learn  at  length 
that  his  Highness  declined  the  proffered  honor. 

"  Stop  !  "  spoke  the  overseer  again,  detecting  a 
look  of  alarm  in  Palmyre's  face  as  she  turned  away, 
"  he  does  n't  do  any  such  thing.  If  Senor  will  let 
me  take  the  man  to  Agricola " 

"  No  !  "  cried  Palmyre,  with  an  agonized  look, 
"  I  will  tell.  He  will  take  the  place  and  fill  it  if 
you  will  give  me  to  him  for  his  own  —  but  oh, 
messieurs,  for  the  love  of  God  —  I  do  not  want  to 
be  his  wife  !  " 

The  overseer  looked  at  the  Senor,  ready  to 
approve  whatever  he  should  decide.  Bras-Coupe's 
intrepid  audacity  took  the  Spaniard's  heart  by  irre- 
sistible assault. 

"  I  leave  it  entirely  with  Senor  Fusilier,"  he  said. 

"  But  he  is  not  my  master;  he  has  no  right " 

"  Silence  !  " 

And  she  was  silent;  and  so,  sometimes,  is  fire  in 
the  wall. 

Agricola's  consent  was  given  with  malicious 
promptness,  and  as  Bras-Coupe's  fetters  fell  off 
it  was  decreed  that,  should  he  fill  his  office  effi- 
ciently, there  should  be  a  wedding  on  the  rear 
veranda  of  the  Grandissime  mansion  simultaneously 
with  the  one  already  appointed  to  take  place  in  the 


250  The  Grandissimes 

grand  hall  of  the  same  house  six  months  from  that 
present  day.  In  the  meanwhile  Palmyre  should 
remain  with  Mademoiselle,  who  had  promptly  but 
quietly  made  up  her  mind  that  Palmyre  should  not 
be  wed  unless  she  wished  to  be.  Bras-Coupe  made 
no  objection,  was  royally  worthless  for  a  time,  but 
learned  fast,  mastered  the  "gumbo"  dialect  in  a 
few  weeks,  and  in  six  months  was  the  most  valuable 
man  ever  bought  for  gourde  dollars.  Nevertheless, 
there  were  but  three  persons  within  as  many  square 
miles  who  were  not  most  vividly  afraid  of  him. 

The  first  was  Palmyre.  His  bearing  in  her  pres- 
ence was  ever  one  of  solemn,  exalted  respect,  which, 
whether  from  pure  magnanimity  in  himself,  or  by 
reason  of  her  magnetic  eye,  was  something  worth 
being  there  to  see.  "  It  was  royal  !  "  said  the  over- 
seer. 

The  second  was  not  that  official.  When  Bras- 
Coupe  said  —  as,  at  stated  intervals,  he  did  say  — 
"  Mo  courri  c'ez  Agricole  Fusilier  pou  'oir  'namour- 
ouse  (I  go  to  Agricola  Fusilier  to  see  my  be- 
trothed,)" the  overseer  would  sooner  have  intercepted 
a  score  of  painted  Chickasaws  than  that  one  lover. 
He  would  look  after  him  and  shake  a  prophetic 
head.  "  Trouble  coming ;  better  not  deceive  that 
fellow  ;  "  yet  that  was  the  very  thing  Palmyre  dared 
do.  Her  admiration  for  Bras-Coupe  was  almost 
boundless.  She  rejoiced  in  his  stature ;  she  rev- 
elled in  the  contemplation  of  his  untamable  spirit ; 
he  seemed  to  her  the  gigantic  embodiment  of  her 
own  dark,  fierce  will,  the  expanded   realization  of 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  251 

her  lifetime  longing  for  terrible  strength.  But  the 
single  deficiency  in  all  this  impassioned  regard  was 
—  what  so  many  fairer  loves  have  found  impossible 
to  explain  to  so  many  gentler  lovers  —  an  entire 
absence  of  preference ;  her  heart  she  could  not  give 
him  —  she  did  not  have  it.  Yet  after  her  first 
prayer  to  the  Spaniard  and  his  overseer  for  deliv- 
erance, to  the  secret  surprise  and  chagrin  of  her 
young  mistress,  she  simulated  content.  It  was 
artifice ;  she  knew  Agricola's  power,  and  to  seem 
to  consent  was  her  one  chance  with  him.  He 
might  thus  be  beguiled  into  withdrawing  his  own 
consent.  That  failing,  she  had  Mademoiselle's 
promise  to  come  to  the  rescue,  which  she  could 
use  at  the  last  moment ;  and  that  failing,  there  was 
a  dirk  in  her  bosom,  for  which  a  certain  hard  breast 
was  not  too  hard.  Another  element  of  safety,  of 
which  she  knew  nothing,  was  a  letter  from  the 
Cannes  Brulee.  The  word  had  reached  there  that 
love  had  conquered  —  that,  despite  all  hard  words, 
and  rancor,  and  positive  injury,  the  Grandissime 
hand  —  the  fairest  of  Grandissime  hands  —  was 
about  to  be  laid  into  that  of  one  who  without  much 
stretch  might  be  called  a  De  Grapion  ;  that  there 
was,  moreover,  positive  effort  being  made  to  induce 
a  restitution  of  old  gaming-table  spoils.  Honore 
and  Mademoiselle,  his  sister,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  Atlantic,  were  striving  for  this  end.  Don  Jose 
sent  this  intelligence  to  his  kinsman  as  glad  tidings 
(a  lover  never  imagines  there  are  two  sides  to  that 
which  makes  him  happy),  and,  to  add  a  touch   of 


252 


The  Grandissimes 


humor,  told  how  Palmyre,  also,  was  given  to  the 
chieftain.  The  letter  that  came  back  to  the  young 
Spaniard  did  not  blame  him  so  much  :  he  was  igno- 
rant of  all  the  facts  ;  but  a  very  formal  one  to  Agric- 
ola  begged  to  notify  him  that  if  Palmyre's  union 
with  Bras-Coupe  should  be  completed,  as  sure  as 
there  was  a  God  in  heaven,  the  writer  would  have 
the  life  of  the  man  who  knowingly  had  thus  endeav- 
ored to  dishonor  one  who  shared  the  blood  of  the  De 
Grapions.  Thereupon  Agricola,  contrary  to  his 
general  character,  began  to  drop  hints  to  Don  Jose 
that  the  engagement  of  Bras-Coupe  and  Palmyre 
need  not  be  considered  irreversible ;  but  the  don 
was  not  desirous  of  disappointing  his  terrible  pet. 
Palmyre,  unluckily,  played  her  game  a  little  too 
deeply.  She  thought  the  moment  had  come  for 
herself  to  insist  on  the  match,  and  thus  provoke 
Agricola  to  forbid  it.  To  her  incalculable  dismay 
she  saw  him  a  second  time  reconsider  and  become 
silent. 

The  second  person  who  did  not  fear  Bras-Coupe 
was  Mademoiselle.  On  one  of  the  giant's  earliest 
visits  to  see  Palmyre  he  obeyed  the  summons  which 
she  brought  him,  to  appear  before  the  lady.  A 
more  artificial  man  might  have  objected  on  the 
score  of  dress,  his  attire  being  a  single  gaudy  gar- 
ment tightly  enveloping  the  waist  and  thighs.  As 
his  eyes  fell  upon  the  beautiful  white  lady  he  pros- 
trated himself  upon  the  ground,  his  arms  out- 
stretched before  him.  He  would  not  move  till  she 
was  gone.     Then  he  arose  like  a  hermit  who  has 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  253 

seen  a  vision.  "  Bras-Coupe  n  pas  oul'e  oir  zombis 
(Bras-Coupe  dares  not  look  upon  a  spirit)."  From 
that  hour  he  worshipped.  He  saw  her  often ; 
every  time,  after  one  glance  at  her  countenance,  he 
would  prostrate  his  gigantic  length  with  his  face  in 
the  dust. 

The  third  person  who  did  not  fear  him  was  — 
Agricola?  Nay,  it  was  the  Spaniard  —  a  man 
whose  capability  to  fear  anything  in  nature  or  be- 
yond had  never  been  discovered. 

Long  before  the  end  of  his  probation  Bras-Coupe 
would  have  slipped  the  entanglements  of  bondage, 
though  as  yet  he  felt  them  only  as  one  feels  a 
spider's  web  across  the  face,  had  not  the  master, 
according  to  a  little  affectation  of  the  times,  pro- 
moted him  to  be  his  game-keeper.  Many  a  day 
did  these  two  living  magazines  of  wrath  spend 
together  in  the  dismal  swamps  and  on  the  meagre 
intersecting  ridges,  making  war  upon  deer  and  bear 
and  wildcat ;  or  on  the  Mississippi  after  wild  goose 
and  pelican  ;  when  even  a  word  misplaced  would 
have  made  either  the  slayer  of  the  other.  Yet  the 
months  ran  smoothly  round  and  the  wedding  night 
drew  nigh.1  A  goodly  company  had  assembled. 
All  things  were  ready.  The  bride  was  dressed,  the 
bridegroom  had  come.     On  the  great  back  piazza, 

1  An  over-zealous  Franciscan  once  complained  bitterly  to  the 
bishop  of  Havana,  that  people  were  being  married  in  Louisiana  in  their 
own  houses  after  dark  and  thinking  nothing  of  it.  It  is  not  certain 
that  he  had  reference  to  the  Grandissime  mansion  ;  at  any  rate  he  was 
tittered  down  by  the  whole  community. 


254 


The  Grandissimes 


which  had  been  inclosed  with  sail-cloth  and  lighted 
with  lanterns,  was  Palmyre,  full  of  a  new  and  deep 
design  and  playing  her  deceit  to  the  last,  robed  in 
costly  garments  to  whose  beauty  was  added  the 
charm  of  their  having  been  worn  once,  and  once 
only,  by  her  beloved  Mademoiselle. 

But  where  was  Bras-Coupe  ? 

The  question  was  asked  of  Palmyre  by  Agricola 
with  a  gaze  that  meant  in  English, "  No  tricks,  girl !  " 

Among  the  servants  who  huddled  at  the  windows 
and  door  to  see  the  inner  magnificence  a  frightened 
whisper  was  already  going  round. 

"  We  have  made  a  sad  discovery,  Miche  Fusilier," 
said  the  overseer.  "  Bras-Coupe  is  here ;  we  have 
him  in  a  room  just  yonder.  But  —  the  truth  is,  sir, 
Bras-Coupe  is  a  voudou." 

"Well,  and  suppose  he  is;  what  of  it?  Only 
hush  ;  do  not  let  his  master  know  it.  It  is  noth- 
ing ;  all  the  blacks  are  voudous,  more  or  less." 

"  But  he  declines  to  dress  himself —  has  painted 
himself  all  rings  and  stripes,  antelope  fashion." 

"  Tell  him  Agricola  Fusilier  says, '  dress  immedi- 
ately ! '  " 

"  Oh,  Miche,  we  have  said  that  five  times  already, 
and  his  answer  —  you  will  pardon  me  —  his  answer 
is  —  spitting  on  the  ground  —  that  you  are  a  con- 
temptible dotchian  (white  trash)." 

There  is  nothing  to  do  but  privily  to  call  the 
very  bride  —  the  lady  herself.  She  comes  forth  in 
all  her  glory,  small,  but  oh,  so  beautiful !  Slam  ! 
Bras-Coupe  is  upon  his  face,  his  finger-tips  touching 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  255 

the  tips  of  her  snowy  slippers.  She  gently  bids 
him  go  and  dress,  and  at  once  he  goes. 

Ah  !  now  the  question  may  be  answered  without 
whispering.  There  is  Bras-Coupe,  towering  above 
all  heads,  in  ridiculous  red  and  blue  regimentals, 
but  with  a  look  of  savage  dignity  upon  him  that 
keeps  every  one  from  laughing.  The  murmur  of 
admiration  that  passed  along  the  thronged  gallery 
leaped  up  into  a  shout  in  the  bosom  of  Palmyre. 
Oh,  Bras-Coupe  —  heroic  soul!  She  would  not 
falter.  She  would  let  the  silly  priest  say  his  say  — 
then  her  cunning  should  help  her  not  to  be  his  wife, 
yet  to  show  his  mighty  arm  how  and  when  to  strike. 

"  He  is  looking  for  Palmyre,"  said  some,  and  at 
that  moment  he  saw  her. 

"  H 0-0-0-0-0  !  " 

Agricola's  best  roar  was  a  penny  trumpet  to  Bras- 
Coupe's  note  of  joy.  The  whole  masculine  half  of 
the  indoor  company  flocked  out  to  see  what  the 
matter  was.  Bras-Coupe  was  taking  her  hand  in 
one  of  his  and  laying  his  other  upon  her  head ;  and 
as  some  one  made  an  unnecessary  gesture  for  silence, 
he  sang,  beating  slow  and  solemn  time  with  his 
naked  foot  and  with  the  hand  that  dropped  hers  to 
smite  his  breast : 

"  '  En  haut  la  montagne,  zami, 
Mo  pe  coupe  canne,  zami, 
Pou"  fe  I'a'zen'  zami, 
Pou'  mo  bailie  Palmyre. 
Ab !  Palmyre,  Palmare  mo  e'ere, 
MoP  aime  'ou'  — mo  I 'aime  'ou'.'  " 


256  The  Grandissimes 

"Montague?"  asked  one  slave  of  another,  " qui 
est  ca,  montagne  ?  gnia  pas  quic  'ose  comme  (a  dans  la 
Louisiana  ?  (What 's  a  mountain  ?  We  have  n't 
such  things  in  Louisiana.)" 

"  Mein  ye  gagnein  plein  montagnes  dans  FAfrique, 
listen  !  " 

"  'Ah!  Palmyre,  Palmyre,  mo'  piti  zozo, 
Mo  I'aime  'ou'  — mo  I'aime,  I'aime  'on'.'  " 

"  Bravissimo  !  —  "  but  just  then  a  counter-attrac- 
tion drew  the  white  company  back  into  the  house. 
An  old  French  priest  with  sandalled  feet  and  a  dirty 
face  had  arrived.  There  was  a  moment  of  hand- 
shaking with  the  good  father,  then  a  moment  of 
palpitation  and  holding  of  the  breath,  and  then  — 
you  would  have  known  it  by  the  turning  away  of 
two  or  three  feminine  heads  in  tears  —  the  lily  hand 
became  the  don's,  to  have  and  to  hold,  by  authority 
of  the  Church  and  the  Spanish  king.  And  all  was 
merry,  save  that  outside  there  was  coming  up  as 
villanous  a  night  as  ever  cast  black  looks  in  through 
snug  windows. 

It  was  just  as  the  newly-wed  Spaniard,  with 
Agricola  and  all  the  guests,  were  concluding  the  by- 
play of  marrying  the  darker  couple,  that  the  hurri- 
cane struck  the  dwelling.  The  holy  and  jovial 
father  had  made  faint  pretence  of  kissing  this  second 
bride;  the  ladies,  colonels,  dons,  etc.,  —  though  the 
joke  struck  them  as  a  trifle  coarse  —  were  beginning 
to  laugh  and  clap  hands  again  and  the  gowned  jester 
to  bow  to  right  and  left,  when   Bras-Coupe,  tardily 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  257 

realizing  the  consummation  of  his  hopes,  stepped 
forward  to  embrace  his  wife. 

"  Bras-Coupe !  " 

The  voice  was  that  of  Palmyre's  mistress.  She 
had  not  been  able  to  comprehend  her  maid's  be- 
havior, but  now  Palmyre  had  darted  upon  her  an 
appealing  look. 

The  warrior  stopped  as  if  a  javelin  had  flashed 
over  his  head  and  stuck  in  the  wall. 

"  Bras-Coupe  must  wait  till  I  give  him  his  wife." 

He  sank,  with  hidden  face,  slowly  to  the  floor. 

"  Bras-Coupe  hears  the  voice  of  zombis ;  the 
voice  is  sweet,  but  the  words  are  very  strong ;  from 
the  same  sugar-cane  comes  strop  and  tafia ;  Bras- 
Coupe  says  to  zombis,  '  Bras-Coupe  will  wait ;  but 
if  the  dotchians  deceive  Bras-Coupe  —  "  he  rose  to 
his  feet  with  his  eyes  closed  and  his  great  black  fist 
lifted  over  his  head  —  "  Bras-Coupe  will  call  Voudou- 
Magnan  ! " 

The  crowd  retreated  and  the  storm  fell  like  a 
burst  of  infernal  applause.  A  whiff"  like  fifty  witches 
flouted  up  the  canvas  curtain  of  the  gallery  and  a 
fierce  black  cloud,  drawing  the  moon  under  its  cloak, 
belched  forth  a  stream  of  fire  that  seemed  to  flood 
the  ground  ;  a  peal  of  thunder  followed  as  if  the  sky 
had  fallen  in,  the  house  quivered,  the  great  oaks 
groaned,  and  every  lesser  thing  bowed  down  before 
the  awful  blast.  Every  lip  held  its  breath  for  a 
minute  —  or  an  hour,  no  one  knew  —  there  was  a 
sudden  lull  of  the  wind,  and  the  floods  came  down. 
Have  you  heard  it  thunder  and  rain  in  those  Lcu- 
17 


258  The  Grandissimes 

isiana  lowlands  ?  Every  clap  seems  to  crack  the 
world.  It  has  rained  a  moment;  you  peer  through 
the  black  pane  —  your  house  is  an  island,  all  the 
land  is  sea. 

However,  the  supper  was  spread  in  the  hall  and 
in  due  time  the  guests  were  filled.  Then  a  supper 
was  spread  in  the  big  hall  in  the  basement,  below 
stairs,  the  sons  and  daughters  of  Ham  came  down 
like  the  fowls  of  the  air  upon  a  rice-field,  and  Bras- 
Coupe,  throwing  his  heels  about  with  the  joyous 
carelessness  of  a  smutted  Mercury,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  tasted  the  blood  of  the  grape.  A  second, 
a  fifth,  a  tenth  time  he  tasted  it,  drinking  more 
deeply  each  time,  and  would  have  taken  it  ten  times 
more  had  not  his  bride  cunningly  concealed  it.  It 
was  like  stealing  a  tiger's  kittens. 

The  moment  quickly  came  when  he  wanted  his 
eleventh  bumper.  As  he  presented  his  request  a 
silent  shiver  of  consternation  ran  through  the  dark 
company;  and  when,  in  what  the  prince  meant  as  a 
remonstrative  tone,  he  repeated  the  petition  —  split- 
ting the  table  with  his  fist  by  way  of  punctuation  — 
there  ensued  a  hustling  up  staircases  and  a  cramming 
into  dim  corners  that  left  him  alone  at  the  banquet. 

Leaving  the  table,  he  strode  upstairs  and  into  the 
chirruping  and  dancing  of  the  grand  salon.  There 
was  a  halt  in  the  cotillion  and  a  hush  of  amazement 
like  the  shutting  off  of  steam.  Bras-Coupe  strode 
straight  to  his  master,  laid  his  paw  upon  his  fellow- 
bridegroom's  shoulder  and  in  a  thunder-tone  de- 
manded : 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  259 

"  More ! " 

The  master  swore  a  Spanish  oath,  lifted  his  hand 
and  —  fell,  beneath  the  terrific  fist  of  his  slave,  with 
a  bang  that  jingled  the  candelabra.  Dolorous 
stroke  !  —  for  the  dealer  of  it.  Given,  apparently 
to  him  —  poor,  tipsy  savage  —  in  self-defence,  pun- 
ishable, in  a  white  ofFender,  by  a  small  fine  or  a  few 
days'  imprisonment,  it  assured  Bras-Coupe  the  death 
of  a  felon  ;  such  was  the  old  Code  Noir.  (We  have 
a  Code  Noir  now,  but  the  new  one  is  a  mental  reser- 
vation, not  an  enactment.) 

The  guests  stood  for  an  instant  as  if  frozen, 
smitten  stiff  with  the  instant  expectation  of  insur- 
rection, conflagration  and  rapine  (just  as  we  do  to- 
day whenever  some  poor  swaggering  Pompey  rolls 
up  his  fist  and  gets  a  ball  through  his  body),  while, 
single-handed  and  naked-fisted  in  a  room  full  of 
swords,  the  giant  stood  over  his  master,  making 
strange  signs  and  passes  and  rolling  out  in  wrathful 
words  of  his  mother  tongue  what  it  needed  no  inter- 
preter to  tell  his  swarming  enemies  was  a  voudou 
malediction. 

"Nous  sommes  grigis/"  screamed  two  or  three 
ladies,  "  we  are  bewitched  !  " 

"  Look  to  your  wives  and  daughters  !  "  shouted 
a  Brahmin-Mandarin. 

"  Shoot  the  black  devils  without  mercy  !  "  cried  a 
Mandarin-Fusilier,  unconsciously  putting  into  a 
single  outflash  of  words  the  whole  Creole  treatment 
of  race  troubles. 

With    a    single    bound    Bras-Coupe   reached   the 


260  The  Grandissimes 

drawing-room  door ;  his  gaudy  regimentals  made  a 
red  and  blue  streak  down  the  hall ;  there  was  a  rush 
of  frilled  and  powdered  gentlemen  to  the  rear  ve- 
randa, an  avalanche  of  lightning  with  Bras-Coupe  in 
the  midst  making  for  the  swamp,  and  then  all  with- 
out was  blackness  of  darkness  and  all  within  was  a 
wild  commingled  chatter  of  Creole,  French,  and 
Spanish  tongues,  —  in  the  midst  of  which  the  reluc- 
tant Agricola  returned  his  dresssword  to  its  scab- 
bard. 

While  the  wet  lanterns  swung  on  crazily  in  the 
trees  along  the  way  by  which  the  bridegroom  was 
to  have  borne  his  bride  ;  while  Madame  Grandis- 
sime  prepared  an  impromptu  bridalchamber ;  while 
the  Spaniard  bathed  his  eye  and  the  blue  gash  on 
his  cheek-bone ;  while  Palmyre  paced  her  room  in  a 
fever  and  wild  tremor  of  conflicting  emotions  through- 
out the  night,  and  the  guests  splashed  home  after 
the  storm  as  best  they  could,  Bras-Coupe  was  prac- 
tically declaring  his  independence  on  a  slight  rise  of 
ground  hardly  sixty  feet  in  circumference  and  lifted 
scarce  above  the  water  in  the  inmost  depths  of  the 
swamp. 

And  amid  what  surroundings  !  Endless  colonnades 
of  cypresses ;  long,  motionless  drapings  of  gray 
moss  ;  broad  sheets  of  noisome  waters,  pitchy  black, 
resting  on  bottomless  ooze ;  cypress  knees  studding 
the  surface ;  patches  of  floating  green,  gleaming 
brilliantly  here  and  there ;  yonder  where  the  sun- 
beams wedge  themselves  in,  constellations  of  water- 
lilies,  the  many-hued  iris,  and  a  multitude  of  flowers 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  26  1 

that  no  man  had  named;  here,  too,  serpents  great 
and  small,  of  wonderful  colorings,  and  the  dull  and 
loathsome  moccasin  sliding  warily  off  the  dead  tree; 
in  dimmer  recesses  the  cow  alligator,  with  her  nest 
hard  by ;  turtles  a  century  old ;  owls  and  bats, 
raccoons,  opossums,  rats,  centipedes  and  creatures 
of  like  vileness ;  great  vines  of  beautiful  leaf  and 
scarlet  fruit  in  deadly  clusters  ;  maddening  mosqui- 
toes, parasitic  insects,  gorgeous  dragon-flies  and 
pretty  water-lizards :  the  blue  heron,  the  snowy 
crane,  the  red-bird,  the  moss-bird,  the  night-hawk 
and  the  chuckwill's-widow ;  a  solemn  stillness  and 
stifled  air  only  now  and  then  disturbed  by  the  call 
or  whir  of  the  summer  duck,  the  dismal  ventril- 
oquous  note  of  the  rain-crow,  or  the  splash  of  a 
dead  branch  falling  into  the  clear  but  lifeless  bayou. 
The  pack  of  Cuban  hounds  that  howl  from  Don 
Jose's  kennels  cannot  snuff  the  trail  of  the  stolen 
canoe  that  glides  through  the  sombre  blue  vapors 
of  the  African's  fastnesses.  His  arrows  send  no 
telltale  reverberations  to  the  distant  clearing. 
Many  a  wretch  in  his  native  wilderness  has  Bras- 
Coupe  himself,  in  palmier  days,  driven  to  just  such 
an  existence,  to  escape  the  chains  and  horrors  of  the 
barracoons ;  therefore  not  a  whit  broods  he  over 
man's  inhumanity,  but,  taking  the  affair  as  a  matter 
of  course,  casts  about  him  for  a  future. 


262  The  Grandissimes 

CHAPTER    XXIX 

THE    STORY    OF    BRAS-COUPE,    CONTINUED 

Bras-Coupe  let  the  autumn  pass,  and  wintered  in 
his  den. 

Don  Jose,  in  a  majestic  way,  endeavored  to  be 
happy.  He  took  his  senora  to  his  hall,  and  un- 
der her  rule  it  took  on  for  a  while  a  look  and 
feeling  which  turned  it  from  a  hunting-lodge  in- 
to a  home.  Wherever  the  lady's  steps  turned  — 
or  it  is  as  correct  to  say  wherever  the  proud  tread 
of  Palmyre  turned  —  the  features  of  bachelor' s-hall 
disappeared ;  guns,  dogs,  oars,  saddles,  nets,  went 
their  way  into  proper  banishment,  and  the  broad 
halls  and  lofty  chambers  —  the  floors  now  muffled 
with  mats  of  palmetto-leaf —  no  longer  re-echoed 
the  tread  of  a  lonely  master,  but  breathed  a  redo- 
lence of  flowers  and  a  rippling  murmur  of  well-con- 
tented song. 

But  the  song  was  not  from  the  throat  of  Bras- 
Coupe's  " piti  zozo."  Silent  and  severe  by  day,  she 
moaned  away  whole  nights  heaping  reproaches  upon 
herself  for  the  impulse  —  now  to  her,  because  it  had 
failed,  inexplicable  in  its  folly — which  had  permitted 
her  hand  to  lie  in  Bras-Coupe's  and  the  priest  to 
bind  them  together. 

For  in  the  audacity  of  her  pride,  or,  as  Agricola 
would  have  said,  in  the  immensity  of  her  impudence, 
she  had  held  herself  consecrate  to  a  hopeless  love. 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  263 

But  now  she  was  a  black  man's  wife  !  and  even  he 
unable  to  sit  at  her  feet  and  learn  the  lesson  she 
had  hoped  to  teach  him.  She  had  heard  of  San 
Domingo  ;  for  months  the  fierce  heart  within  her 
silent  bosom  had  been  leaping  and  shouting  and 
seeing  visions  of  fire  and  blood,  and  when  she 
brooded  over  the  nearness  of  Agricola  and  the 
remoteness  of  Honore  these  visions  got  from  her  a 
sort  of  mad  consent.  The  lesson  she  would  have 
taught  the  giant  was  Insurrection.  But  it  was  too 
late.  Letting  her  dagger  sleep  in  her  bosom,  and 
with  an  undefined  belief  in  imaginary  resources,  she 
had  consented  to  join  hands  with  her  giant  hero 
before  the  priest ;  and  when  the  wedding  had  come 
and  gone  like  a  white  sail,  she  was  seized  with  a 
lasting,  fierce  despair.  A  wild  aggressiveness  that 
had  formerly  characterized  her  glance  in  moments 
of  anger — moments  which  had  grown  more  and 
more  infrequent  under  the  softening  influence  of 
her  Mademoiselle's  nature  —  now  came  back  inten- 
sified, and  blazed  in  her  eye  perpetually.  Whatever 
her  secret  love  may  have  been  in  kind,  its  sinking 
beyond  hope  below  the  horizon  had  left  her  fifty 
times  the  mutineer  she  had  been  before  —  the 
mutineer  who   has    nothing  to   lose. 

"  She  loves  her  candio"  said  the  negroes. 

"Simple  creatures  !"  said  the  overseer,  who  prided 
himself  on  his  discernment,  "she  loves  nothing; 
she  hates  Agricola ;  it 's  a  case  of  hate  at  first  sight 
—  the  strongest  kind." 

Both  were  partly  right;  her  feelings  were  won- 


264  The  Grandissimes 

derfully  knit  to  the  African  ;  and  she  now  dedicated 
herself  to  Agricola's  ruin. 

The  sefior,  it  has  been  said,  endeavored  to  be 
happy  ;  but  now  his  heart  conceived  and  brought 
forth  its  first-born  fear,  sired  by  superstition  —  the 
fear  that  he  was  bewitched.  The  negroes  said  that 
Bras-Coupe  had  cursed  the  land.  Morning  after 
morning  the  master  looked  out  with  apprehension 
toward  the  fields,  until  one  night  the  worm  came 
upon  the  indigo,  and  between  sunset  and  sunrise 
every  green  leaf  had  been  eaten  up  and  there  was 
nothing  left  for  either  insect  or  apprehension  to 
feed  upon. 

And  then  he  said  —  and  the  echo  came  back  from 
the  Cannes  Brulees  —  that  the  very  bottom  culpa- 
bility of  this  thing  rested  on  the  Grandissimes,  and 
specifically  on  their  fugleman  Agricola,  through  his 
putting  the  hellish  African  upon  him.  Moreover, 
fever  and  death,  to  a  degree  unknown  before,  fell 
upon  his  slaves.  Those  to  whom  life  was  spared 
—  but  to  whom  strength  did  not  return  —  wandered 
about  the  place  like  scarecrows,  looking  for  shelter, 
and  made  the  very  air  dismal  with  the  reiteration, 
"  No'  ouanga  (we  are  bewitched),  Bras-Coupe  f'e  moi 
des  grigis  (the  voudou's  spells  are  on  me)."  The 
ripple  of  song  was  hushed  and  the  flowers  fell  upon 
the  floor. 

"  I  have  heard  an  English  maxim,"  wrote  Colonel 
De  Grapion  to  his  kinsman,  "  which  I  would  rec- 
ommend you  to  put  into  practice  —  'Fight  the 
devil  with  fire.'  " 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  265 

No,  he  would  not  recognize  devils  as  belligerents. 

But  if  Rome  commissioned  exorcists,  could  not 
he  employ  one  ? 

No,  he  would  not!  If  his  hounds  could  not 
catch  Bras-Coupe,  why,  let  him  go.  The  overseer 
tried  the  hounds  once  more  and  came  home  with 
the  best  one  across  his  saddle-bow,  an  arrow  run 
half  through  its  side. 

Once  the  blacks  attempted  by  certain  familiar 
rum-pourings  and  nocturnal  charm-singing  to  lift  the 
curse ;  but  the  moment  the  master  heard  the  wild 
monotone  of  their  infernal  worship,  he  stopped  it 
with  a  word. 

Early  in  February  came  the  spring,  and  with  it 
some  resurrection  of  hope  and  courage.  It  may 
have  been  —  it  certainly  was,  in  part  —  because 
young  Honore  Grandissime  had  returned.  He 
was  like  the  sun's  warmth  wherever  he  went;  and 
the  other  Honore  was  like  his  shadow.  The  fairer 
one  quickly  saw  the  meaning  of  these  things, 
hastened  to  cheer  the  young  don  with  hopes  of  a 
better  future,  and  to  effect,  if  he  could,  the  restora- 
tion of  Bras-Coupe  to  his  master's  favor.  But  this 
latter  effort  was  an  idle  one.  He  had  long  sittings 
with  his  uncle  Agricola  to  the  same  end,  but  they 
always  ended  fruitless  and  often  angrily. 

His  dark  half-brother  had  seen  Palmyre  and 
loved  her.  Honore  would  gladly  have  solved 
one  or  two  riddles  by  effecting  their  honorable 
union  in  marriage.  The  previous  ceremony  on  the 
Grandissime  back  piazza  need  be  no  impediment; 


266  The  Grandissimes 

all  slave-owners  understood  those  things.  Follow- 
ing Honore's  advice,  the  f.  m.  c,  who  had  come 
into  possession  of  his  paternal  portion,  sent  to 
Cannes  Brulees  a  written  offer,  to  buy  Palmyre 
at  any  price  that  her  master  might  name,  stating 
his  intention  to  free  her  and  make  her  his  wife. 
Colonel  De  Grapion  could  hardly  hope  to  settle 
Palmyre's  fate  more  satisfactorily,  yet  he  could  not 
forego  an  opportunity  to  indulge  his  pride  by 
following  up  the  threat  he  had  hung  over  Agricola 
to  kill  whosoever  should  give  Palmyre  to  a  black 
man.  He  referred  the  subject  and  the  would-be 
purchaser  to  him.  It  would  open  up  to  the  old 
braggart  a  line  of  retreat,  thought  the  planter  of 
the  Cannes   Brulees. 

But  the  idea  of  retreat  had  left  Citizen  Fusilier. 

"  She  is  already  married,"  said  he  to  M.  Honore 
Grandissime,  f.  m.  c.  "  She  is  the  lawful  wife  of 
Bras-Coupe ;  and  what  God  has  joined  together  let 
no  man  put  asunder.  You  know  it,  sirrah.  You 
did  this  for  impudence,  to  make  a  show  of  your 
wealth.  You  intended  it  as  an  insinuation  of 
equality.  I  overlook  the  impertinence  for  the  sake 
of  the  man  whose  white  blood  you  carry  ;  but 
h-mark  you,  if  ever  you  bring  your  Parisian  airs 
and  self-sufficient  face  on  a  level  with  mine  again, 
h-I   will  slap  it." 

The  quadroon,  three  nights  after,  was  so  indis- 
creet as  to  give  him  the  opportunity,  and  he  did 
it  —  at  that  quadroon  ball  to  which  Dr.  Keene 
alluded  in  talking  to   Frowenfeld. 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  267 

But  Don  Jose,  we  say,  plucked  up  new  spirit. 

"  Last  year's  disasters  were  but  fortune's  freaks," 
he  said.    "  See,  others'  crops  have  failed  all  about  us." 

The  overseer  shook  his  head. 

"  C'est  ce  maudit  cocodri  la  has  (It  is  that  accursed 
alligator,  Bras-Coupe,  down  yonder  in  the  swamp)." 

And  by  and  by  the  master  was  again  smitten 
with  the  same  belief.  He  and  his  neighbors  put  in 
their  crops  afresh.  The  spring  waned,  summer 
passed,  the  fevers  returned,  the  year  wore  round, 
but  no  harvest  smiled.  "  Alas  !  "  cried  the  planters, 
"we  are  all  poor  men!"  The  worst  among  the 
worst  were  the  fields  of  Bras-Coupe's  master  — 
parched  and  shrivelled.  "  He  does  not  understand 
planting,"  said  his  neighbors ;  "  neither  does  his 
overseer.  Maybe,  too,  it  is  true  as  he  says,  that  he 
is  voudoued." 

One  day  at  high  noon  the  master  was  taken  sick 
with  fever. 

The  third  noon  after  —  the  sad  wife  sitting  by 
the  bedside  —  suddenly,  right  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  with  the  door  open  behind  him,  stood  the 
magnificent,  half-nude  form  of  Bras-Coupe.  He 
did  not  fall  down  as  the  mistress's  eyes  met  his, 
though  all  his  flesh  quivered.  The  master  was 
lying  with  his  eyes  closed.  The  fever  had  done  a 
fearful  three  days'  work. 

"  Mioko-Koanga  oul'e  so  femme  (Bras-Coupe  wants 
his  wife)." 

The  master  started  wildly  and  stared  upon  his 
slave. 


268  The  Grandissimes 

"Bras-Coupe  oule  so  femme  !  "  repeated  the   black. 

"  Seize  him  !  "  cried  the  sick  man,  trying  to  rise. 

But,  though  several  servants  had  ventured  in 
with  frightened  faces,  none  dared  molest  the  giant. 
The  master  turned  his  entreating  eyes  upon  his 
wife,  but  she  seemed  stunned,  and  only  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  sat  as  if  paralyzed  by  a 
foreknowledge  of  what  was  coming. 

Bras-Coupe  lifted  his  great  black  palm  and 
commenced : 

"  Mo  c'e  voudrai  que  la  maison  ci  la,  et  tout  ca  qui 
pas  femme  ici,  s'raient  encore  maudits !  (May  this 
house,  and  all  in  it  who  are  not  women,  be  ac- 
cursed)." 

The  master  fell  back  upon  his  pillow  with  a 
groan  of  helpless  wrath. 

The  African  pointed  his  finger  through  the  open 
window. 

"  May  its  fields  not  know  the  plough  nor  nourish 
the  herds  that  overrun  it." 

The  domestics,  who  had  thus  far  stood  their 
ground,  suddenly  rushed  from  the  room  like 
stampeded  cattle,  and  at  that  moment  appeared 
Palmyre. 

"Speak  to  him,"  faintly  cried  the  panting  invalid. 

She  went  firmly  up  to  her  husband  and  lifted  her 
hand.  With  an  easy  motion,  but  quick  as  lightning, 
as  a  lion  sets  foot  on  a  dog,  he  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

"  Bras-Coupe  oule  so"  femme"  he  said,  and  just 
then  Palmyre  would  have  gone  with  him  to  the 
equator. 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  269 

"You  shall  not  have  her!  "  gasped  the  master. 

The  African  seemed  to  rise  in  height,  and  still 
holding  his  wife  at  arm's  length,  resumed  his  male- 
diction : 

"  May  weeds  cover  the  ground  until  the  air  is 
full  of  their  odor  and  the  wild  beasts  of  the  forest 
come  and  lie  down  under  their  cover." 

With  a  frantic  effort  the  master  lifted  himself 
upon  his  elbow  and  extended  his  clenched  fist  in 
speechless  defiance ;  but  his  brain  reeled,  his  sight 
went  out,  and  when  again  he  saw,  Palmyre  and  her 
mistress  were  bending  over  him,  the  overseer  stood 
awkwardly  by,  and  Bras-Coupe  was  gone. 

The  plantation  became  an  invalid  camp.  The 
words  of  the  voudou  found  fulfilment  on  every 
side.  The  plough  went  not  out ;  the  herds  wan- 
dered through  broken  hedges  from  field  to  field 
and  came  up  with  staring  bones  and  shrunken 
sides ;  a  frenzied  mob  of  weeds  and  thorns  wrestled 
and  throttled  each  other  in  a  struggle  for  standing- 
room  —  rag-weed,  smart-weed,  sneeze-weed,  bind- 
weed, iron-weed —  until  the  burning  skies  of  mid- 
summer checked  their  growth  and  crowned  their 
unshorn  tops  with  rank  and  dingy  flowers. 

"  Why  in  the  name  of —  St.  Francis,"  asked  the 
priest  of  the  overseer,  "  did  n't  the  sefiora  use  her 
power  over  the  black  scoundrel  when  he  stood 
and  cursed,    that  day  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  father,"  said  the 
overseer,  in  a  discreet  whisper,  "  I  can  only  suppose 
she  thought  Bras-Coupe  had  half  a  right  to  do   it." 


270  The  Grandissimes 

"Ah,  ah,  I  see;  like  her  brother  Honore  — 
—  looks  at  both  sides  of  a  question  —  a  miserable 
practice  ;  but  why  couldn  't  Palmyre  use  her  eyes  ? 
They  would  have  stopped  him." 

"  Palmyre  ?  Why  Palmyre  has  become  the  best 
monture  (Plutonian  medium)  in  the  parish.  Agric- 
ola  Fusilier  himself  is  afraid  of  her.  Sir,  I  think 
sometimes  Bras-Coupe  is  dead  and  his  spirit  has 
gone  into  Palmyre.  She  would  rather  add  to  his 
curse  than  take  from  it." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  jovial  divine,  with  a  fat  smile, 
"  castigation  would  help  her  case ;  the  whip  is  a 
great  sanctifier.  I  fancy  it  would  even  make  a 
Christian  of  the  inexpugnable  Bras-Coupe." 

But  Bras-Coupe  kept  beyond  the  reach  alike  of 
the  lash  and  of  the  Latin  Bible. 

By  and  by  came  a  man  with  a  rumor,  whom  the 
overseer  brought  to  the  master's  sick-room,  to  tell 
that  an  enterprising  Frenchman  was  attempting  to 
produce  a  new  staple  in  Louisiana,  one  that  worms 
would  not  annihilate.  It  was  that  year  of  history 
when  the  despairing  planters  saw  ruin  hovering  so 
close  over  them  that  they  cried  to  heaven  for  succor. 
Providence  raised  up  Etienne  de  Bore.  "  And  if 
Etienne  is  successful,"  cried  the  news-bearer,  "  and 
gets  the  juice  of  the  sugar-cane  to  crystallize,  so 
shall  all  of  us,  after  him,  and  shall  yet  save  our 
lands  and  homes.  Oh,  Sefior,  it  will  make  you 
strong  again  to  see  these  fields  all  cane  and  the  long 
rows  of  negroes  and  negresses  cutting  it,  while  they 
sing    their   song   of  those  droll   African    numerals, 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe 


271 


counting  the  canes  they  cut,"  and  the  bearer  ot  good 
tidings  sang  them  for  very  joy  : 

|     Q  j ,    IS f>, —    ,    N — N » — * — ,— N. — fc_ 

1£ 


Au-mon-de,  Au-tap-o-te,  Au-pe  -  to-  te,  Au-que-re-que,  Bo. 

"  And  Honore  Grandissime  is  going  to  introduce 
it  on  his  lands,"  said  Don  Jose. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Agricola  Fusilier,  coming  in. 
Honore,  the  indefatigable  peacemaker,  had  brought 
his  uncle  and  his  brother-in-law  for  the  moment  not 
only  to  speaking,  but  to  friendly,  terms. 

The  seiior  smiled. 

"  I  have  some  good  tidings,  too,"  he  said ;  "  my 
beloved  lady  has  borne  me  a  son." 

"Another  scion   of  the    house   of  Grand 1 

mean  Martinez  !  "  exclaimed  Agricola.  '  And  now, 
Don  Jose,  let  me  say  that  /  have  an  item  of  rare 
intelligence  !  " 

The  don  lifted  his  feeble  head  and  opened  his  in- 
quiring eyes  with  a  sudden,  savage  light  in  them. 

"  No,"  said  Agricola,  "  he  is  not  exactly  taken 
yet,  but  they  are  on  his  track." 

"Who?" 

"  The  police.  We  may  say  he  is  virtually  in  our 
grasp." 

It  was  on  a  Sabbath  afternoon  that  a  band  of 
Choctaws  having  just  played  a  game  of  racquette 


272  The  Grandissimes 

behind  the  city  and  a  similar  game  being  about  to 
end  between  the  white  champions  of  two  rival  fau- 
bourgs, the  beating  of  tom-toms,  rattling  of  mules' 
jawbones  and  sounding  of  wooden  horns  drew  the 
populace  across  the  fields  to  a  spot  whose  present 
name  of  Congo  Square  still  preserves  a  reminder  of 
its  old  barbaric  pastimes.  On  a  grassy  plain  under 
the  ramparts,  the  performers  of  these  hideous  dis- 
cords sat  upon  the  ground  facing  each  other,  and  in 
their  midst  the  dancers  danced.  They  gyrated  in 
couples,  a  few  at  a  time,  throwing  their  bodies  into 
the  most  startling  attitudes  and  the  wildest  contor- 
tions, while  the  whole  company  of  black  lookers-on, 
incited  by  the  tones  of  the  weird  music  and  the  vio- 
lent posturing  of  the  dancers,  swayed  and  writhed 
in  passionate  sympathy,  beating  their  breasts,  palms 
and  thighs  in  time  with  the  bones  and  drums,  and 
at  frequent  intervals  lifting,  in  that  wild  African 
unison  no  more  to  be  described  than  forgotten,  the 
unutterable  songs  of  the  Babouille  and  Counjaille 
dances,  with  their  ejaculatory  burdens  of  "  Aie ! 
Aie  !  Voudou  Magnan  !"  and  "  Aie  Calinda!  Dance 
Calinda ! "  The  volume  of  sound  rose  and  fell 
with  the  augmentation  or  diminution  of  the  dancers' 
extravagances.  Now  a  fresh  man,  young  and 
supple,  bounding  into  the  ring,  revived  the  flagging 
rattlers,  drummers  and  trumpeters;  now  a  wearied 
dancer,  finding  his  strength  going,  gathered  all  his 
force  at  the  cry  of  "  Dance  zisqu'a  mort  !  "  rallied  to 
a  grand  finale  and  with  one  magnificent  antic  fell, 
foaming  at  the  mouth. 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  273 

The  amusement  had  reached  its  height.  Many 
participants  had  been  lugged  out  by  the  neck  to 
avoid  their  being  danced  on,  and  the  enthusiasm 
had  risen  to  a  frenzy,  when  there  bounded  into  the 
ring  the  blackest  of  black  men,  an  athlete  of  superb 
figure,  in  breeches  of  "Indienne"  —  the  stuff  used 
for  slave  women's  best  dresses — jingling  with  bells, 
his  feet  in  moccasins,  his  tight,  crisp  hair  decked 
out  with  feathers,  a  necklace  of  alligator's  teeth 
rattling  on  his  breast  and  a  living  serpent  twined 
about  his  neck. 

It  chanced  that  but  one  couple  was  dancing. 
Whether  they  had  been  sent  there  by  advice  of 
Agricola  is  not  certain.  Snatching  a  tambourine 
from  a  bystander  as  he  entered,  the  stranger  thrust 
the  male  dancer  aside,  faced  the  woman  and  began 
a  series  of  saturnalian  antics,  compared  with  which 
all  that  had  gone  before  was  tame  and  sluggish  ;  and 
as  he  finally  leaped,  with  tinkling  heels,  clean  over 
his  bewildered  partner's  head,  the  multitude  howled 
with  rapture. 

Ill-starred  Bras-Coupe.  He  was  in  that  extra- 
hazardous and  irresponsible  condition  of  mind  and 
body  known  in  the  undignified  present  as  "  drunk 
again." 

By  the  strangest  fortune,  if  not,  as  we  have  just 
hinted,  by  some  design,  the  man  whom  he  had 
once  deposited  in  the  willow  bushes,  and  the  woman 
Clemence,  were  the  very  two  dancers,  and  no  other, 
whom  he  had  interrupted.  The  man  first  stupidly 
regarded,   next    admiringly  gazed    upon,    and  then 


274 


The  Grandissimes 


distinctly  recognized,  his  whilom  driver.  Five 
minutes  later  the  Spanish  police  were  putting  their 
heads  together  to  devise  a  quick  and  permanent 
capture ;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  sixth  minute,  as 
the  wonderful  fellow  was  rising  in  a  yet  more 
astounding  leap  than  his  last,  a  lasso  fell  about  his 
neck  and  brought  him,  crashing  like  a  burnt  tree, 
face  upward  upon  the  turf. 

"  The  runaway  slave,"  said  the  old  French  code, 
continued  in  force  by  the  Spaniards,  "  the  runaway 
slave  who  shall  continue  to  be  so  for  one  month 
from  the  day  of  his  being  denounced  to  the  officers 
of  justice  shall  have  his  ears  cut  off  and  shall  be 
branded  with  the  flower  de  luce  on  the  shoulder ; 
and  on  a  second  offence  of  the  same  nature,  per- 
sisted in  during  one  month  of  his  being  denounced, 
he  shall  be  hamstrung,  and  be  marked  with  the 
flower  de  luce  on  the  other  shoulder.  On  the  third 
offence  he  shall  die."  Bras-Coupe  had  run  away 
only  twice.  "  But,"  said  Agricola,  "  these  '  bossals  ' 
must  be  taught  their  place.  Besides,  there  is  Article 
27  of  the  same  code  :  '  The  slave  who,  having  struck 
his  master,  shall  have  produced  a  bruise,  shall  suffer 
capital  punishment '  —  a  very  necessary  law  !  "  He 
concluded  with  a  scowl  upon  Palmyre,  who  shot 
back  a  glance  which  he  never  forgot. 

The  Spaniard  showed  himself  very  merciful  — 
for  a  Spaniard ;  he  spared  the  captive's  life.  He 
might  have  been  more  merciful  still;  but  Honore 
Grandissime  said  some  indignant  things  in  the 
African's    favor,  and    as    much   to   teach   the    Gran- 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  275 

dissimes  a  lesson  as  to  punish  the  runaway,  he 
would  have  repented  his  clemency,  as  he  repented 
the  momentary  truce  with  Agricola,  but  for  the 
tearful  pleading  of  the  seiiora  and  the  hot,  dry 
eyes  of  her  maid.  Because  of  these  he  overlooked 
the  offence  against  his  person  and  estate,  and  de- 
livered Bras-Coupe  to  the  law  to  suffer  only  the 
penalties  of  the  crime  he  had  committed  against 
society  by  attempting  to  be  a  free  man. 

We  repeat  it  for  the  credit  of  Palmyre,  that  she 
pleaded  for  Bras-Coupe.  But  what  it  cost  her  to 
make  that  intercession,  knowing  that  his  death 
would  leave  her  free,  and  that  if  he  lived  she  must 
be  his  wife,  let  us  not  attempt  to  say. 

In  the  midst  of  the  ancient  town,  in  a  part  which 
is  now  crumbling  away,  stood  the  Calaboza,  with  its 
humid  vaults  and  grated  cells,  its  iron  cages  and  its 
whips  ;  and  there,  soon  enough,  they  strapped  Bras- 
Coupe  face  downward  and  laid  on  the  lash.  And 
yet  not  a  sound  came  from  the  mutilated  but  un- 
conquered  African  to  annoy  the  ear  of  the  sleeping 
city. 

("  And  you  suffered  this  thing  to  take  place  ?  " 
asked  Joseph  Frowenfeld  of  Honore  Grandissime. 

"  My-de'-seh  !  "  exclaimed  the  Creole,  "  they 
lied  to  me  —  said  they  would  not  harm  him  !  ") 

He  was  brought  at  sunrise  to  the  plantation. 
The  air  was  sweet  with  the  smell  of  the  weed-grown 
fields.  The  long-horned  oxen  that  drew  him  and 
the  naked  boy  that  drove  the  team  stopped  before 
his  cabin. 


276  The  Grandissimes 

"You  cannot  put  that  creature  in  there,"  said  the 
thoughtful  overseer.  "  He  would  suffocate  under 
a  roof —  he  has  been  too  long  out-of-doors  for  that. 
Put  him  on  my  cottage  porch."  There,  at  last, 
Palmyre  burst  into  tears  and  sank  down,  while 
before  her,  on  a  soft  bed  of  dry  grass,  rested  the 
helpless  form  of  the  captive  giant,  a  cloth  thrown 
over  his  galled  back,  his  ears  shorn  from  his 
head,  and  the  tendons  behind  his  knees  severed. 
His  eyes  were  dry,  but  there  was  in  them  that 
unspeakable  despair  that  fills  the  eye  of  the  charger 
when,  fallen  in  battle,  he  gazes  with  sidewise- 
bended  neck  on  the  ruin  wrought  upon  him.  His 
eye  turned  sometimes  slowly  to  his  wife.  He  need 
not  demand  her  now  —  she  was  always  by  him. 

There  was  much  talk  over  him — much  idle  talk. 
He  merely  lay  still  under  it  with  a  fixed  frown  ; 
but  once  some  incautious  tongue  dropped  the 
name  of  Agricola.  The  black  man's  eyes  came 
so  quickly  round  to  Palmyre  that  she  thought  he 
would  speak ;  but  no;  his  words  were  all  in  his  eyes. 
She  answered  their  gleam  with  a  fierce  affirmative 
glance,  whereupon  he  slowly  bent  his  head  and  spat 
upon  the  floor. 

There  was  yet  one  more  trial  of  his  wild  nature. 
The  mandate  came  from  his  master's  sick-bed  that 
he  must  lift  the  curse. 

Bras-Coupe  merely  smiled.  God  keep  thy  enemy 
from  such  a  smile  ! 

The  overseer,  with  a  policy  less  Spanish  than  his 
master's,  endeavored  to  use   persuasion.      But   the 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe  277 

fallen  prince  would  not  so  much  as  turn  one  glance 
from  his  parted  hamstrings.  Palmyre  was  then 
besought  to  intercede.  She  made  one  poor  attempt, 
but  her  husband  was  nearer  doing  her  an  unkind- 
ness  than  ever  he  had  been  before  ;  he  made  a  slow 
sign  for  silence  —  with  his  fist ;  and  every  mouth 
was  stopped. 

At  midnight  following,  there  came,  on  the  breeze 
that  blew  from  the  mansion,  a  sound  of  running 
here  and  there,  of  wailing  and  sobbing —  another 
Bridegroom  was  coming,  and  the  Spaniard,  with 
much  such  a  lamp  in  hand  as  most  of  us  shall  be 
found  with,  neither  burning  brighdy  nor  wholly 
gone  out,  went  forth  to  meet  Him. 

"Bras-Coupe,"  said  Palmyre,  next  evening, 
speaking  low  in  his  mangled  ear,  "  the  master  is 
dead ;  he  is  just  buried.  As  he  was  dying,  Bras- 
Coupe,  he  asked  that  you  would  forgive  him." 

The  maimed  man  looked  steadfastly  at  his  wife. 
He  had  not  spoken  since  the  lash  struck  him,  and 
he  spoke  not  now ;  but  in  those  large,  clear  eyes, 
where  his  remaining  strength  seemed  to  have  taken 
refuge  as  in  a  citadel,  the  old  fierceness  flared  up  for  a 
moment,  and  then,  like  an  expiring  beacon,  went  out. 

"  Is  your  mistress  well  enough  by  this  time  to 
venture  here  ?  "  whispered  the  overseer  to  Palmyre. 
"  Let  her  come.  Tell  her  not  to  fear,  but  to  bring 
the  babe  —  in  her  own  arms,  tell  her —  quickly  !  " 

The  lady  came,  her  infant  boy  in  her  arms,  knelt 
down  beside  the  bed  of  sweet  grass  and  set  the 
child  within  the  hollow  of  the  African's  arm.     Bras- 


278  The  Grandissimes 

Coupe  turned  his  gaze  upon  it ;  it  smiled,  its 
mother's  smile,  and  put  its  hand  upon  the  runa- 
way's face,  and  the  first  tears  of  Bras-Coupe's  life, 
the  dying  testimony  of  his  humanity,  gushed  from 
his  eyes  and  rolled  down  his  cheek  upon  the  in- 
fant's hand.  He  laid  his  own  tenderly  upon  the 
babe's  forehead,  then  removing  it,  waved  it  abroad, 
inaudibly  moved  his  lips,  dropped  his  arm,  and 
closed  his   eyes.      The  curse  was  lifted. 

"  Le  pauv  dgiab'  !  "  said  the  overseer,  wiping  his 
eyes  and  looking  fieldward.  "  Palmyre,  you  must 
get  the  priest." 

The  priest  came,  in  the  identical  gown  in  which 
he  had  appeared  the  night  of  the  two  weddings. 
To  the  good  father's  many  tender  questions  Bras- 
Coupe  turned  a  failing  eye  that  gave  no  answers  ; 
until,  at  length : 

"Do  you  know  where  you  are  going?"  asked 
the  holy  man. 

"  Yes,"  answered  his  eyes,  brightening. 

"  Where  ? " 

He  did  not  reply  ;  he  was  lost  in  contemplation, 
and  seemed  looking  far  away. 

So  the  question  was  repeated. 

"  Do  you  know  where  you  are  going?  " 

And  again  the  answer  of  the  eyes.     He  knew. 

"  Where  ?  " 

The  overseer  at  the  edge  of  the  porch,  the  widow 
with  her  babe,  and  Palmyre  and  the  priest  bending 
over  the  dying  bed,  turned  an  eager  ear  to  catch  the 
answer. 


The  Story  of  Bras-Coupe 


279 


"To  —  "  the  voice  failed  a  moment;  the  depart- 
ing hero  essayed  again  ;  again  it  failed ;  he  tried 
once  more,  lifted  his  hand,  and  with  an  ecstatic,  up- 
ward smile,  whispered,  "  To  —  Africa  "  —  and  was 
gone. 


PARALYSIS 

S  we  have  said,  the  story  of  Bras-Coupe 
was  told  that  day  three  times :  to  the 
Grandissime  beauties  once,  to  Frowenfeld 
twice.  The  fair  Grandissimes  all  agreed, 
at  the  close,  that  it  was  pitiful.  Specially,  that  it 
was  a  great  pity  to  have  hamstrung  Bras-Coupe,  a 
man  who  even  in  his  cursing  had  made  an  exception 
in  favor  of  the  ladies.  True,  they  could  suggest 
no  alternative;  it  was  undeniable  that  he  had  de- 
served his  fate ;  still,  it  seemed  a  pity.  They  dis- 
persed, retired  and  went  to  sleep  confirmed  in  this 
sentiment.  In  Frowenfeld  the  story  stirred  deeper 
feelings. 

On  this  same  day,  while  it  was  still  early  morn- 
ing, Honore  Grandissime,  f.  m.  c,  with  more  than 
even  his  wonted  slowness  of  step  and  propriety  of 
rich  attire,  had  reappeared  in  the  shop  of  the  rue 


282  The  Grandissimes 

Royale.  He  did  not  need  to  say  he  desired  another 
private  interview.  Frowenfeld  ushered  him  silently 
and  at  once  into  his  rear  room,  offered  him  a  chair 
(which  he  accepted),  and  sat  down  before  him. 

In  his  labored  way  the  quadroon  stated  his 
knowledge  that  Frowenfeld  had  been  three  times  to 
the  dwelling  of  Palmyre  Philosophe.  Why,  he 
further  intimated,  he  knew  not,  nor  would  he  ask ; 
but  he —  when  he  had  applied  for  admission  —  had 
been  refused.  He  had  laid  open  his  heart  to 
the  apothecary's  eyes  —  "It  may  have  been  un- 
wisely   " 

Frowenfeld  interrupted  him  ;  Palmyre  had  been 
ill  for  several  days;  Doctor  Keene  —  who,  Mr. 
Grandissime  probably  knew,  was  her  physician 

The  landlord  bowed,  and  Frowenfeld  went  on  to 
explain  that  Doctor  Keene,  while  attending  her, 
had  also  fallen  sick  and  had  asked  him  to  take  the 
care  of  this  one  case  until  he  could  himself  resume  it. 
So  there,  in  a  word,  was  the  reason  why  Joseph  had, 
and  others  had  not,  been  admitted  to  her  presence. 

As  obviously  to  the  apothecary's  eyes  as  any- 
thing intangible  could  be,  a  load  of  suffering  was 
lifted  from  the  quadroon's  mind,  as  this  explanation 
was  concluded.  Yet  he  only  sat  in  meditation 
before  his  tenant,  who  regarded  him  long  and  sadly. 
Then,  seized  with  one  of  his  energetic  impulses,  he 
suddenly  said  : 

"  Mr.  Grandissime,  you  are  a  man  of  intelligence, 
accomplishments,  leisure  and  wealth;  why"  (clench- 


Paralysis  283 

ings  his  fists  and  frowning),  "  why  do  you  not  give 
yourself —  your  time  —  wealth  —  attainments  — 
energies  —  everything  —  to  the  cause  of  the  down- 
trodden race  with  which  this  community's  scorn 
unjustly   compels  you  to  rank   yourself?" 

The  quadroon  did  not  meet  Frowenfeld's  kindled 
eyes  for  a  moment,  and  when  he  did,  it  was  slowly 
and  dejectedly. 

"  He  canno'  be,"  he  said,  and  then,  seeing  his 
words  were  not  understood,  he  added :  "  He  'ave 
no  Cause.  Dad  peop'  'ave  no  Cause."  He  went 
on  from  this  with  many  pauses  and  gropings  after 
words  and  idiom,  to  tell,  with  a  plaintiveness  that 
seemed  to  Frowenfeld  almost  unmanly,  the  reasons 
why  the  people,  a  little  of  whose  blood  had  been 
enough  to  blast  his  life,  would  never  be  free  by  the 
force  of  their  own  arm.  Reduced  to  the  meanings 
which  he  vainly  tried  to  convey  in  words,  his  state- 
ment was  this  :  that  that  people  was  not  a  people. 
Their  cause  —  was  in  Africa.  They  upheld  it  there 
—  they  lost  it  there  —  and  to  those  that  are  here 
the  struggle  was  over ;  they  were,  one  and  all,  pris- 
oners of  war. 

"You  speak  of  them  in  the  third  person,"  said 
Frowenfeld. 

"Ah  ham  nod  a  slev." 

"  Are  you  certain  of  that  ?  "  asked  the  tenant. 

His  landlord  looked  at  him. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "that  you  — 
your  class  —  the  free  quadroons  —  are  the  saddest 


284  The  Grandissimes 

slaves  of  all.  Your  men,  for  a  little  property,  and 
your  women,  for  a  little  amorous  attention,  let 
themselves  be  shorn  even  of  the  virtue  of  discon- 
tent, and  for  a  paltry  bait  of  sham  freedom  have 
consented  to  endure  a  tyrannous  contumely  which 
flattens  them  into  the  dirt  like  grass  under  a  slab. 
I  would  rather  be  a  runaway  in  the  swamps  than 
content  myself  with  such  a  freedom.  As  your  class 
stands  before  the  world  to-day  —  free  in  form  but 
slaves  in  spirit  —  you  are  —  I  do  not  know  but  I 
was  almost  ready  to  say  —  a  warning  to  philan- 
thropists !  " 

The  free  man  of  color  slowly  arose. 

"  I  trust  you  know,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "  that  I 
say  nothing  in  offence." 

"  Havery  word  is  tru',"  replied  the  sad  man. 

"  Mr.  Grandissime,"  said  the  apothecary,  as  his 
landlord  sank  back  again  into  his  seat,  "  I  know  you 
are  a  broken-hearted  man." 

The  quadroon  laid  his  fist  upon  his  heart  and 
looked  up. 

"  And  being  broken-hearted,  you  are  thus  spe- 
cially fitted  for  a  work  of  patient  and  sustained  self- 
sacrifice.  You  have  only  those  things  to  lose  which 
grief  has  taught  you  to  despise  —  ease,  money, 
display.  Give  yourself  to  your  people  —  to  those, 
I  mean,  who  groan,  or  should  groan,  under  the  de- 
graded lot  which  is  theirs  and  yours  in  common." 

The  quadroon  shook  his  head,  and  after  a 
moment's  silence,  answered : 

"Ah  cannod  be  one  Toussaint  l'Ouverture.     Ah 


Paralysis  285 

cannod  trah  to  be.  Hiv  I  trah,  I  h-only  s'all  soog- 
ceed  to  be  one  Bras-Coupe." 

"You  entirely  misunderstand  me,"  said  Frowen- 
feld  in  quick  response.  "  I  have  no  stronger  dis- 
belief than  my  disbelief  in  insurrection.  I  believe 
that  to  every  desirable  end  there  are  two  roads,  the 
way  of  strife  and  the  way  of  peace.  I  can  imagine 
a  man  in  your  place,  going  about  among  his  people, 
stirring  up  their  minds  to  a  noble  discontent,  laying 
out  his  means,  sparingly  here  and  bountifully  there, 
as  in  each  case  might  seem  wisest,  for  their  enlight- 
enment, their  moral  elevation,  their  training  in 
skilled  work ;  going,  too,  among  the  men  of  the 
prouder  caste,  among  such  as  have  a  spirit  of  fair- 
ness, and  seeking  to  prevail  with  them  for  a  public 
recognition  of  the  rights  of  all;  using  all  his  cunning 
to  show  them  the  double  damage  of  all  oppression, 
both  great  and  petty " 

The  quadroon  motioned  "  enough."  There  was 
a  heat  in  his  eyes  which  Frowenfeld  had  never  seen 
before. 

"  M'sieu',"  he  said,  "  waid  till  Agricola  Fusilier 
ees  keel." 

"  Do  you  mean  '  dies  '  ?  " 

"  No,"  insisted  the  quadroon  ;  "  listen."  And 
with  slow,  painstaking  phrase  this  man  of  strong 
feeling  and  feeble  will  (the  trait  of  his  caste)  told 
—  as  Frowenfeld  felt  he  would  do  the  moment  he 
said  "  listen  " —  such  part  of  the  story  of  Bras- 
Coupe  as  showed  how  he  came  by  his  deadly  hatred 
of  Agricola. 


286  The  Grandissimes 

"  Tale  me,"  said  the  landlord,  as  he  concluded 
the  recital,  "  w'y  deen  Bras  Coupe  mague  dad  curze 
on  Agricola  Fusilier  ?  Becoze  Agricola  ees  one 
sorcier !     Elz  'e   bin  dade  sinz  long  tamm." 

The  speaker's  gestures  seemed  to  imply  that  his 
own  hand,  if  need  be,  would  have  brought  the 
event  to   pass. 

As  he  rose  to  say  adieu,  Frowenfeld,  without 
previous  intention,  laid  a  hand  upon  his  visitor's 
arm. 

"  Is  there  no  one  who  can  make  peace  between 
you  ?  " 

The  landlord  shook  his  head. 

"  'T  is  impossib'.     We  don'  wand." 

"  I  mean,"  insisted  Frowenfeld,  "  Is  there  no 
man  who  can  stand  between  you  and  those  who 
wrong  you,  and  effect  a  peaceful   reparation  ?  " 

The  landlord  slowly  moved  away,  neither  he 
nor  his  tenant  speaking,  but  each  knowing  that  the 
one  man  in  the  minds  of  both,  as  a  possible  peace- 
maker, was  Honore  Grandissime. 

"  Should  the  opportunity  offer,"  continued 
Joseph,  "may  I  speak  a  word  for  you  myself?" 

The  quadroon  paused  a  moment,  smiled  politely 
though  bitterly,  and  departed  repeating  again  : 

"  'Tis  impossib'.     We  don' wand." 

"  Palsied,"  murmured  Frowenfeld,  looking  after 
him,  regretfully, — "  like  all  of  them." 

Frowenfeld's  thoughts  were  still  on  the  same 
theme  when,  the  day  having  passed,  the  hour  was 
approaching  wherein  Innerarity  was  exhorted  to  tell 


Paralysis  287 

his  good-night  story  in  the  merry  circle  at  the 
distant  Grandissime  mansion.  As  the  apothecary 
was  closing  his  last  door  for  the  night,  the  fairer 
Honore  called  him  out  into  the  moonlight. 

"  Withered,"  the  student  was  saying  audibly  to 
himself,  "  not  in  the  shadow  of  the  Ethiopian,  but 
in  the  glare  of  the  white  man." 

"  Who  is  withered  ? "  pleasantly  demanded 
Honore.     The    apothecary    started    slightly. 

"Did  I  speak?  How  do  you  do,  sir?  I  meant 
the  free  quadroons." 

"  Including  the  gentleman  from  whom  you  rent 
your  store  ? " 

"  Yes,  him  especially ;  he  told  me  this  morning 
the  story  of  Bras-Coupe." 

M.  Grandissime  laughed.  Joseph  did  not  see 
why,   nor  did  the  laugh  sound  entirely  genuine. 

"  Do  not  open  the  door,  Mr  Frowenfeld,"  said 
the  Creole,  "  Get  your  great-coat  and  cane  and 
come  take  a  walk  with  me ;  I  will  tell  you  the 
same  story." 

It  was  two  hours  before  they  approached  this 
door  again  on  their  return.  Just  before  they 
reached  it,  Honore  stopped  under  the  huge  street- 
lamp,  whose  light  had  gone  out,  where  a  large 
stone  lay  before  him  on  the  ground  in  the  narrow, 
moonlit  street.  There  was  a  tall,  unfinished  build- 
ing at  his  back. 

"  Mr  Frowenfeld," — he  struck  the  stone  with 
his  cane, —  "this  stone  is  Bras-Coupe — we  cast  it 
aside  because  it  turns  the  edge  of  our  tools." 


288  The  Grandissimes 

He  laughed.  He  had  laughed  to-night  more  than 
was  comfortable  to  a  man  of  Frowenfeld's  quiet  mind. 

As  the  apothecary  thrust  his  shopkey  into  the 
lock  and  so  paused  to  hear  his  companion,  who  had 
begun  again  to  speak,  he  wondered  what  it  could 
be  —  for  M.  Grandissime  had  not  disclosed  it  — 
that  induced  such  a  man  as  he  to  roam  aimlessly, 
as  it  seemed,  in  deserted  streets  at  such  chill  and 
dangerous  hours.  "  What  does  he  want  with  me  ?  " 
The  thought  was  so  natural  that  it  was  no  miracle 
the  Creole  read  it. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  smiling  and  taking  an  attitude, 
"  you  are  a  great  man  for  causes,  Mr.  Frowenfeld  ; 
but  me,  I  am  for  results,  ha,  ha !  You  may  ponder 
the  philosophy  of  Bras-Coupe  in  your  study,  but  / 
have  got  to  get  rid  of  his  results,  me.  You  know 
them." 

"  You  tell  me  it  revived  a  war  where  you  had 
made   a  peace,"  said  Frowenfeld. 

"  Yes  —  yes  —  that  is  his  results  ;  but  good 
night,    Mr.    Frowenfeld." 

"  Good  night,  sir." 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

ANOTHER    WOUND    IN    A    NEW    PLACE 

Each  day  found  Doctor  Keene's  strength  increas- 
ing, and  on  the  morning  following  the  incidents  last 
recorded   he   was  imprudently    projecting   an    out- 


Another  Wound  in  a  New  Place      289 

door  promenade.  An  announcement  from  Honore 
Grandissime,  who  had  paid  an  early  call,  had,  to 
that  gentleman's  no  small  surprise,  produced  a 
sudden  and  violent  effect  on  the  little  man's 
temper. 

He  was  sitting  alone  by  his  window,  looking  out 
upon  the  levee,  when  the  apothecary  entered  the 
apartment. 

"  Frowenfeld,"  he  instantly  began,  with  evident 
displeasure  most  unaccountable  to  Joseph,  "  I  hear 
you  have  been  visiting  the  Nancanous." 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  there." 

"  Well,  you  had  no  business  to  go  ! " 

Doctor  Keene  smote  the  arm  of  his  chair  with 
his  fist. 

Frowenfeld  reddened  with  indignation,  but  sup- 
pressed his  retort.  He  stood  still  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  and  Doctor  Keene  looked  out  of  the 
window. 

"  Doctor  Keene,"  said  the  visitor,  when  his  atti- 
tude was  no  longer  tolerable,  "  have  you  anything 
more  to  say  to  me  before  I  leave  you  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  It  is  necessary  for  me,  then,  to  say  that  in  ful- 
filment of  my  promise,  I  am  going  from  here  to 
the  house  of  Palmyre,  and  that  she  will  need  no 
further  attention  after  to-day.  As  to  your  present 
manner  toward  me,  I  shall  endeavor  to  suspend 
judgment  until  T  have  some  knowledge  of  its 
cause." 

The  doctor  made  no  reply,  but  went  on  looking 
19 


290 


The  Grandissimes 


out  of  the  window,  and  Frowenfeld  turned  and  left 
him. 

As  he  arrived  in  the  philosophe's  sick-chamber 
—  where  he  found  her  sitting  in  a  chair  set  well 
back  from  a  small  fire  —  she  half-whispered 
"Miche"  with  a  fine,  greeting  smile,  as  if  to  a 
brother  after  a  week's  absence.  To  a  person  forced 
to  lie  abed,  shut  away  from  occupation  and  events, 
a  day  is  ten,  three  are  a  month  :  not  merely  in  the 
wear  and  tear  upon  the  patience,  but  also  in  the 
amount  of  thinking  and  recollecting  done.  It  was 
to  be  expected,  then,  that  on  this,  the  apothecary's 
fourth  visit,  Palmyre  would  have  learned  to  take 
pleasure  in  his  coming. 

But  the  smile  was  followed  by  a  faint,  momentary 
frown,  as  if  Frowenfeld  had  hardly  returned  it  in 
kind.  Likely  enough,  he  had  not.  He  was  not 
distinctively  a  man  of  smiles  ;  and  as  he  engaged  in 
his  appointed  task  she  presently  thought  of  this. 

"  This  wound  is  doing  so  well,"  said  Joseph, 
still  engaged  with  the  bandages,  "that  I  shall  not 
need  to  come  again."  He  was  not  looking  at  her 
as  he  spoke,  but  he  felt  her  give  a  sudden  start. 
"  What  is  this  ? "  he  thought,  but  presently  said 
very  quietly  :  "  With  the  assistance  of  your  slave 
woman,  you  can  now  attend  to  it  yourself." 

She  made  no  answer. 

When,  with  a  bow,  he  would  have  bade  her 
good  morning,  she  held  out  her  hand  for  his.  After 
a  barely  perceptible  hesitation,  he  gave  it,  where- 
upon she  held  it  fast,  in  a  way  to  indicate  that  there 


Another  Wound  in  a  New  Place      291 

was  something  to  be  said  which  he  must  stay  and 
hear. 

She  looked  up  into  his  face.  She  may  have  been 
merely  framing  in  her  mind  the  word  or  two  of 
English  she  was  about  to  utter ;  but  an  excitement 
shone  through  her  eyes  and  reddened  her  lips,  and 
something  sent  out  from  her  countenance  a  look  of 
wild  distress. 

"  You  goin'  tell  'im?  "  she  asked. 

"Who?  Agricola?" 

"  Non  !  " 

He  spoke  the  next  name  more  softly. 

"  Honore  ?  " 

Her  eyes  looked  deeply  into  his  for  a  moment, 
then  dropped,  and  she  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

He  was  about  to  say  that  Honore  knew  already, 
but  saw  no  necessity  for  doing  so,  and  changed  his 
answer. 

"  I  will  never  tell  any  one." 

"  You  know  ?  "  she  asked,  lifting  her  eyes  for  an 
instant.  She  meant  to  ask  if  he  knew  the  motive 
that  had  prompted  her  murderous  intent. 

"  I  know  your  whole  sad  history." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  fixedly ;  then, 
still  holding  his  hand  with  one  of  hers,  she  threw 
the  other  to  her  face  and  turned  away  her  head. 
He   thought  she  moaned. 

Thus  she  remained  for  a  few  moments,  then  sud- 
denly she  turned,  clasped  both  hands  about  his,  her 
face  flamed  up  and  she  opened  her  lips  to  speak, 
but  speech  failed.      An  expression  of  pain  and  sup- 


292  The  Grandissimes 

plication  came  upon  her  countenance,  and  the  cry 
burst  from  her  : 

"  Meg  'im  to  love  me  !  " 

He  tried  to  withdraw  his  hand,  but  she  held  it 
fast,  and,  looking  up  imploringly  with  her  wide, 
electric  eyes,  cried  : 

"  Vous  pouvez  le  /aire,  vous  pouvez  le  /aire  (You 
can  do  it,  you  can  do  it) ;  vous  ites  sorcier,  mo 
conne  bien  vous  etes  sorcier  (you  are  a  sorcerer,  I 
know)." 

However  harmless  or  healthful  Joseph's  touch 
might  be  to  the  philosophe,  he  felt  now  that  hers, 
to  him,  was  poisonous.  He  dared  encounter  her 
eyes,  her  touch,  her  voice,  no  longer.  The  better 
man  in  him  was  suffocating.  He  scarce  had  power 
left  to  liberate  his  right  hand  with  his  left,  to  seize 
his  hat  and  go. 

Instantly  she  rose  from  her  chair,  threw  herself 
on  her  knees  in  his  path,  and  found  command  of 
his  language  sufficient  to  cry  as  she  lifted  her  arms, 
bared  of  their  drapery  : 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  don'  rif-used  me  —  don'  rif-used 
me  !  " 

There  was  no  time  to  know  whether  Frowenfeld 
wavered  or  not.  The  thought  flashed  into  his 
mind  that  in  all  probability  all  the  care  and  skill 
he  had  spent  upon  the  wound  was  being  brought 
to  naught  in  this  moment  of  wild  posturing  and 
excitement ;  but  before  it  could  have  effect  upon 
his  movements,  a  stunning  blow  fell  upon  the  back 
of  his  head,  and  Palmyre's  slave  woman,  the  Congo 


Interrupted  Preliminaries  293 

dwarf,  under  the  impression  that  it  was  the  most 
timely  ofstrok.es,  stood  brandishing  a  billet  of  pine 
and  preparing  to  repeat  the  blow. 

He  hurled  her,  snarling  and  gnashing  like  an 
ape,  against  the  farther  wall,  cast  the  bar  from  the 
street  door  and  plunged  out,  hatless,  bleeding  and 
stunned. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

INTERRUPTED     PRELIMINARIES 

About  the  same  time  of  day,  three  gentlemen 
(we  use  the  term  gentlemen  in  its  petrified  state) 
were  walking  down  the  rue  Royale  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Faubourg  Ste.  Marie. 

They  were  coming  down  toward  Palmyre's  corner. 
The  middle  one,  tall  and  shapely,  might  have  been 
mistaken  at  first  glance  for  Honore  Grandissime, 
but  was  taller  and  broader,  and  wore  a  cocked  hat, 
which  Honore  did  not.  It  was  Valentine.  The 
short,  black-bearded  man  in  buckskin  breeches  on 
his  right  was  Jean-Baptiste  Grandissime,  and  the 
slight  one  on  the  left,  who,  with  the  prettiest  and 
most  graceful  gestures  and  balancings,  was  leading 
the  conversation,  was  Hippolyte  Brahmin-Man- 
darin, a  cousin  and  counterpart  of  that  sturdy- 
hearted  challenger  of  Agricola,  Sylvestre. 

"  But  after  all,"  he  was  saying  in  Louisiana 
French,  "  there  is  no  spot  comparable,  for  com- 
fortable seclusion,  to   the  old   orange   grove   under 


294 


The  Grandissimes 


the  levee  on  the  Point ;  twenty  minutes  in  a  skiff, 
five  minutes  for  preliminaries  —  you  would  not  want 
more,  the  ground  has  been  measured  off  five  hun- 
dred times  —  '  are  you  ready  ? ' " 

"  Ah,  bah ! "  said  Valentine,  tossing  his  head, 
"  the  Yankees  would  be  down  on  us  before  you 
could  count  one." 

"  Well,  then,  behind  the  Jesuits'  warehouses,  if 
you  insist.  I  don't  care.  Perdition  take  such  a 
government  !  I  am  almost  sorry  I  went  to  the 
governor's  reception." 

"It  was  quiet,  I  hear;  a  sort  of  quiet  ball,  all 
promenading  and  no  contra-dances.  One  quadroon 
ball  is  worth  five  of  such." 

This  was  the  opinion  of  Jean-Baptiste. 

"  No,  it  was  fine,  anyhow.  There  was  a  contra- 
dance.  The  music  was  —  tarata  joonc,  tara,  tara — 
tarata  joonc,  tararata  joonc,  tara  —  oh!  it  was  the 
finest  thing  —  and  composed  here.     They  compose 

as  fine  things  here  as  they  do  anywhere  in  the 

look  there !  That  man  came  out  of  Palmyre's 
house ;  see  how  he  staggered  just  then  !  " 

"  Drunk,"  said  Jean-Baptiste. 

"  No,  he  seems  to  be  hurt.  He  has  been  struck 
on  the  head.  Oho,  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  that 
same  Palmyre  is  a  wonderful  animal !  Do  you  see  ? 
She  not  only  defends  herself  and  ejects  the  wretch, 
but  she  puts  her  mark  upon  him ;  she  identifies 
him,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  Look  at  the  high  art  of  the 
thing ;  she  keeps  his  hat  as  a  small  souvenir  and 
gives  him  a  receipt  for  it  on  the  back  of  his  head. 


Interrupted  Preliminaries  295 

Ah  !  but  has  n't  she  taught  him  a  lesson  ?  Why, 
gentlemen,  —  it  is  —  if  it  isn't  that  sorcerer  of  an 
apothecary  !  " 

"  What  ?  "  exclaimed  the  other  two  ;  "  well,  well, 
but  this  is  too  good  !  Caught  at  last,  ha,  ha,  ha, 
the  saintly  villain  !  Ah,  ha,  ha  !  Will  not  Honore 
be  proud  of  him  now  ?  Ah!  voila  un  joli  "Joseph  ! 
What  did  I  tell  you  ?  Did  n't  I  always  tell  you 
so  ?" 

"  But  the  beauty  of  it  is,  he  is  caught  so  cleverly. 
No  escape  —  no  possible  explanation.  There  he 
is,  gentlemen,  as  plain  as  a  rat  in  a  barrel,  and 
with  as  plain  a  case.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Is  n't  it  just 
glorious  ?  " 

And  all  three  laughed  in  such  an  ecstasy  of  glee 
that  Frowenfeld  looked  back,  saw  them,  and  knew 
forthwith  that  his  good  name  was  gone.  The  three 
gentlemen,  with  tears  of  merriment  still  in  their  eyes, 
reached  a  corner  and  disappeared. 

"  Mister,"  said  a  child,  trotting  along  under 
Frowenfeld's  elbow,  —  the  odd  English  of  the  New 
Orleans  street-urchin  was  at  that  day  just  beginning 
to  be  heard  —  "  Mister,  dey  got  some  blood  on  de 
back  of  you'  hade  !  " 

But  Frowenfeld  hurried  on  groaning  with  mental 
anguish. 


296  The  Grandissimes 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

UNKINDEST    CUT    OF    ALL 

It  was  the  year  1804.  The  world  was  trembling 
under  the  tread  of  the  dread  Corsican.  It  was  but 
now  that  he  had  tossed  away  the  whole  Valley  of 
the  Mississippi,  dropping  it  overboard  as  a  little 
sand  from  a  balloon,  and  Christendom  in  a  pale 
agony  of  suspense  was  watching  the  turn  of  his 
eye ;  yet  when  a  gibbering  black  fool  here  on  the 
edge  of  civilization  merely  swings  a  pine-knot, 
the  swinging  of  that  pine-knot  becomes  to  Joseph 
Frowenfeld,  student  of  man,  a  matter  of  greater 
moment  than  the  destination  of  the  Boulogne  Flo- 
tilla. For  it  now  became  for  the  moment  the  fore- 
most necessity  of  his  life  to  show,  to  that  minute 
fraction  of  the  earth's  population  which  our  terror 
misnames  "  the  world,"  that  a  man  may  leap  forth 
hatless  and  bleeding  from  the  house  of  a  New 
Orleans  quadroon  into  the  open  street  and  yet  be 
pure  white  within.  Would  it  answer  to  tell  the 
truth  ?  Parts  of  that  truth  he  was  pledged  not  to 
tell ;  and  even  if  he  could  tell  it  all  it  was  incredible 
—  bore  all  the  features  of  a  flimsy  lie. 

"  Mister,"  repeated  the  same  child  who  had 
spoken  before,  reinforced  by  another  under  the 
other  elbow,  "  dey  got  some  blood  on  de  back  of 
you'  hade." 

And  the  other  added  the  suggestion  : 


Unkindest  Cut  of  All  297 

"  Dey  got  one  drug-sto',  yondah." 

Frowenfeld  groaned  again.  The  knock  had  been 
a  hard  one,  the  ground  and  sky  went  round  not  a 
little,  but  he  retained  withal  a  white-hot  process  of 
thought  that  kept  before  him  his  hopeless  inability 
to  explain.  He  was  coffined  alive.  The  world 
(so-called)  would  bury  him  in  utter  loathing,  and 
write  on  his  headstone  the  one  word  —  hypocrite. 
And  he  should  lie  there  and  helplessly  contemplate 
Honore  pushing  forward  those  purposes  which  he 
had  begun  to  hope  he  was  to  have  had  the  honor 
of  furthering.  But  instead  of  so  doing  he  would 
now  be  the  by-word  of  the  street. 

"  Mister,"  interposed  the  child  once  more, 
spokesman  this  time  for  a  dozen  blacks  and  whites 
of  all  sizes  trailing  along  before  and  behind,  "  dey 
got  some  blood  on  de  back  of  you'  hade." 

That  same  morning  Clotilde  had  given  a  music- 
scholar  her  appointed  lesson,  and  at  its  conclusion 
had  borrowed  of  her  patroness  (how  pleasant  it 
must  have  been  to  have  such  things  to  lend  !)  a 
little  yellow  maid,  in  order  that,  with  more  pro- 
priety, she  might  make  a  business  call.  It  was  that 
matter  of  the  rent  —  one  that  had  of  late  occasioned 
her  great  secret  distress.  "  It  is  plain,"  she  had 
begun  to  say  to  herself,  unable  to  comprehend 
Aurora's  peculiar  trust  in  Providence,  "  that  if  the 
money  is  to  be  got  I  must  get  it."  A  possibility 
had  flashed  upon  her  mind  ;  she  had  nurtured  it 
into  a  project,  had  submitted  it  to  her  father-con- 


298  The  Grandissimes 

fessor  in  the  cathedral,  and  received  his  unqualified 
approval  of  it,  and  was  ready  this  morning  to  put 
it  into  execution.  A  great  merit  of  the  plan  was 
its  simplicity.  It  was  merely  to  find  for  her 
heaviest  bracelet  a  purchaser  in  time,  and  a  price 
sufficient,  to  pay  to-morrow's  "  maturities."  See 
there  again  !  —  to  her,  her  little  secret  was  of  greater 
import  than  the  collision  of  almost  any  pine-knot 
with  almost  any  head. 

It  must  not  be  accepted  as  evidence  either  of  her 
unwillingness  to  sell  or  of  the  amount  of  gold  in 
the  bracelet,  that  it  took  the  total  of  Clotilde's 
moral  and  physical  strength  to  carry  it  to  the 
shop  where  she  hoped  —  against  hope  —  to  dispose 
of  it. 

'Sieur  Frowenfeld,  M.  Innerarity  said,  was  out, 
but  would  certainly  be  in  in  a  few  minutes,  and  she 
was  persuaded  to  take  a  chair  against  the  half- 
hidden  door  at  the  bottom  of  the  shop  with  the 
little  borrowed  maid  crouched  at  her  feet. 

She  had  twice  or  thrice  felt  a  regret  that  she  had 
undertaken  to  wait,  and  was  about  to  rise  and  go, 
when  suddenly  she  saw  before  her  Joseph  Frowen- 
feld, wiping  the  sweat  of  anguish  from  his  brow 
and  smeared  with  blood  from  his  forehead  down. 
She  rose  quickly  and  silently,  turned  sick  and  blind, 
and  laid  her  hand  upon  the  back  of  the  chair  for 
support.  Frowenfeld  stood  an  instant  before  her, 
groaned,  and  disappeared  through  the  door.  The 
little  maid,  retreating  backward  against  her  from 
the  direction  of  the  street-door,  drew  to  her  atten- 


Clotilde  as  a  Surgeon  299 

tion  a  crowd  of  sight-seers  which  had  rushed  up  to 
the  doors  and  against  which  Raoul  was  hurriedly 
closing  the  shop. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

CLOTILDE    AS    A    SURGEON 

Was  it  worse  to  stay,  or  to  fly  ?  The  decision 
must  be  instantaneous.  But  Raoul  made  it  easy 
by  crying  in  their  common  tongue,  as  he  slammed 
a  massive  shutter  and  shot  its  bolt: 

"  Go  to  him  !  he  is  down  —  I  heard  him  fall. 
Go  to  him  !  " 

At  this  rallying  cry  she  seized  her  shield  —  that 
is  to  say,  the  little  yellow  attendant  —  and  hurried 
into  the  room.  Joseph  lay  just  beyond  the  middle 
of  the  apartment,  face  downward.  She  found  water 
and  a  basin,  wet  her  own  handkerchief,  and  dropped 
to  her  knees  beside  his  head ;  but  the  moment  he 
felt  the  small  feminine  hands  he  stood  up.  She 
took  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Asseyez-vous,  Monsieu  —  pliz  to  give  you'sev 
de  pens  to  seet  down,  'Sieu'  Frowenfel'.  " 

She  spoke  with  a  nervous  tenderness  in  contrast 
with  her  alarmed  and  entreating  expression  of  face, 
and  gently  pushed  him  into  a  chair. 

The  child  ran  behind  the  bed  and  burst  into 
frightened  sobs,  but  ceased  when  Clotilde  turned 
for  an  instant  and  glared  at  her. 

"  Mague  yo'  'ead  back,"  said  Clotilde,  and  with 


3°° 


The  Grandissimes 


tremulous  tenderness  she  softly  pressed  back  his 
brow  and  began  wiping  off  the  blood.  "  Were 
you  is  'urted  ?  " 

But  while  she  was  asking  her  question  she  had 
found  the  gash  and  was  growing  alarmed  at  its 
ugliness,  when  Raoul,  having  made  everything  fast, 
came  in  with  : 

"  Wat's  de  mattah,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  w'at  's  de 
mattah  wid  you  ?    Oo  done  dat,  'Sieur  Frowen  feP  ?  " 

Joseph  lifted  his  head  and  drew  away  from  it  the 
small  hand  and  wet  handkerchief,  and  without 
letting  go  the  hand,  looked  again  into  Clotilde's 
eyes,  and  said  : 

"  Go  home  ;  oh,  go  home  !  " 

"  Oh  !  no,"  protested  Raoul,  whereupon  Clotilde 
turned  upon  him  with  a  perfectly  amiable,  nurse's 
grimace  for  silence. 

"  I  goin'  rad  now,"  she  said. 

Raoul's  silence  was  only  momentary. 

"Were  you  lef  you'  hat,  'Sieur  Frowenfel'?" 
he  asked,  and  stole  an  artist's  glance  at  Clotilde, 
while  Joseph  straightened  up,  and  nerving  himself 
to  a  tolerable  calmness  of  speech,  said : 

"  I  have  been  struck  with  a  stick  of  wood  by  a 
half-witted  person  under  a  misunderstanding  of  my 
intentions;  but  the  circumstances  are  such  as  to 
blacken  my  character  hopelessly  ;  but  I  am  inno- 
cent !  "  he  cried,  stretching  forward  both  arms  and 
quite  losing  his  momentary  self-control. 

"  'Sieu'  Frowenfel'  !  "  cried  Clotilde,  tears  leaping 
to  her  eves,  "  I  am  shoe  of  it !  " 


Clotilde  as  a  Surgeon  301 

"  I  believe  you  !  I  believe  you,  'Sieur  Frowen- 
fel'  !  "  exclaimed  Raoul  with  sincerity. 

"  You  will  not  believe  me,"  said  Joseph.  "  You 
will  not;  it  will  be  impossible." 

"  Mais"  cried  Clotilde,  "  id  shall  nod  be  impos- 
sib'  !  " 

But  the  apothecary  shook  his  head. 

"  All  I  can  be  suspected  of  will  seem  probable  ; 
the  truth  only  is  incredible." 

His  head  began  to  sink  and  a  pallor  to  over- 
spread his  face. 

"  Allez,  Monsieur,  allez"  cried  Clotilde  to  Raoul, 
a  picture  of  beautiful  terror  which  he  tried  afterward 
to  paint  from  memory,  "  appelez  Doctah  Kin  !  " 

Raoul  made  a  dash  for  his  hat,  and  the  next 
moment  she  heard,  with  unpleasant  distinctness, 
his  impetuous  hand  slam  the  shop  door  and  lock 
her  in. 

"  Bailie  ma  do  I'eau"  she  called  to  the  little  mulat- 
tress,  who  responded  by  searching  wildly  for  a  cup 
and  presently  bringing  a  measuring-glass  full  of 
water. 

Clotilde  gave  it  to  the  wounded  man,  and  he  rose 
at  once  and  stood  on  his  feet. 

"  Raoul." 

"  'E  gone  at  Doctah  Kin." 

"  I  do  not  need  Doctor  Keene  ;  I  am  not  badlv 
hurt.  Raoul  should  not  have  left  vou  here  in  this 
manner.     You  must  not  stay." 

"  Bud,  'Sieur  FrowenfeF,  I  am  afred  to  paz  dad 
gangue !  " 


302  The  Grandissimes 

A  new  distress  seized  Joseph  in  view  of  this 
additional  complication.  But,  unmindful  of  this 
suggestion,  the  fair  Creole   suddenly  exclaimed : 

"  'Sieu'  Frowenfel',  you  har  a  hinnocen'  man ! 
Go,  hopen  yo'  do's  an'  stan  juz  as  you  har  ub  bifFo 
dad  crowd  and  sesso  !  My  God  !  'Sieu'  Frowen- 
fel', iv  you  cannod  stan'  ub  by  you'sev " 

She  ceased  suddenly  with  a  wild  look,  as  if 
another  word  would  have  broken  the  levees  of  her 
eyes,  and  in  that  instant  Frowenfeld  recovered  the 
full  stature  of  a  man. 

"God  bless  you!"  he  cried.  "I  will  do  it!" 
He  started,  then  turned  again  toward  her,  dumb 
for  an  instant,  and  said:  "And  God  reward  you  ! 
You  believe  in  me,  and  you  do  not  even  know 
me." 

Her  eyes  became  wilder  still  as  she  looked  up 
into  his  face  with  the  words  : 

"  Mais,  I  does  know  you  —  betteh  'n  you  know 
annyt'in'  boud  it !  "  and  turned  away,  blushing  vio- 
lently. 

Frowenfeld  gave  a  start.  She  had  given  him  too 
much  light.  He  recognized  her,  and  she  knew  it. 
For  another  instant  he  gazed  at  her  averted  face, 
and  then  with  forced  quietness  said  : 

"  Please  go  into  the  shop." 

The  whole  time  that  had  elapsed  since  the  shut- 
ting of  the  doors  had  not  exceeded  five  minutes ;  a 
sixth  sufficed  for  Clotilde  and  her  attendant  to  re- 
sume their  original  position  in  the  nook  by  the 
private  door  and  for  Frowenfeld  to  wash   his  face 


Clotilde  as  a  Surgeon  303 

and  hands.  Then  the  alert  and  numerous  ears 
without  heard  a  drawing  of  bolts  at  the  door  next 
to  that  which  Raoul  had  issued,  its  leaves  opened 
outward,  and  first  the  pale  hands  and  then  the  white, 
weakened  face  and  still  bloody  hair  and  apparel  of 
the  apothecary  made  their  appearance.  He  opened 
a  window  and  another  door.  The  one  locked  by 
Raoul,  when  unbolted,  yielded  without  a  key,  and 
the  shop  stood  open. 

"  My  friends,"  said  the  trembling  proprietor,  "if 
any  of  you  wishes  to  buy  anything,  I  am  ready  to 
serve  him.     The  rest  will  please  move  away." 

The  invitation,  though  probably  understood,  was 
responded  to  by  only  a  few  at  the  banquette's  edge, 
where  a  respectable  face  or  two  wore  scrutinizing 
frowns.  The  remainder  persisted  in  silently  stand- 
ing and  gazing  in  at  the  bloody  man. 

Frowenfeld  bore  the  gaze.  There  was  one  ele- 
ment of  emphatic  satisfaction  in  it  —  it  drew  their 
observation  from  Clotilde  at  the  other  end  of  the 
shop.  He  stole  a  glance  backward  ;  she  was  not 
there.  She  had  watched  her  chance,  safely  escaped 
through  the  side  door,  and  was  gone. 

Raoul  returned. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  Doctor  Keene  is  took  worse 
ag'in.  'E  is  in  bed;  but  'e  say  to  tell  you  in  dat 
lill  troubl'  of  dis  mawnin'  it  is  himseffw'at  is  inti'lie 
wrong,  an'  'e  hass  you  poddon.  'E  says  sen'  fo' 
Doctor  Conrotte,  but  I  din  go  fo'  him ;  dat  ole 
scoun'rel  —  he  believe  in  puttin'  de  niggas  fre'." 

Frowenfeld  said  he  would  not  consult  professional 


304  The  Grandissimes 

advisers ;  with  a  little  assistance  from  Raoul,  he 
could  give  the  cut  the  slight  attention  it  needed. 
He  went  back  into  his  room,  while  Raoul  turned 
back  to  the  door  and  addressed  the  public. 

"  Pray,  Messieurs,  come  in  and  be  seated."  He 
spoke  in  the  Creole  French  of  the  gutters.  "  Come 
in.  M.  Frowenfeld  is  dressing,  and  desires  that 
you  will  have  a  little  patience.  Come  in.  Take 
chairs.  You  will  not  come  in  ?  No  ?  Nor  you, 
Monsieur?  No?  I  will  set  some  chairs  outside, 
eh  ?     No  ?  " 

They  moved  by  twos  and  threes  away,  and  Raoul, 
retiring,  gave  his  employer  such  momentary  aid  as 
was  required.  When  Joseph,  in  changed  dress, 
once  more  appeared,  only  a  child  or  two  lingered  to 
see  him,  and  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  sit  down 
and,  as  far  as  he  felt  at  liberty  to  do  so,  answer  his 
assistant's  questions. 

During  the  recital,  Raoul  was  obliged  to  exercise 
the  severest  self-restraint  to  avoid  laughing,  —  a 
feeling  which  was  modified  by  the  desire  to  assure 
his  employer  that  he  understood  this  sort  of  thing 
perfectly,  had  run  the  same  risks  himself,  and 
thought  no  less  of  a  man,  providing  be  was  a  gentle- 
man, because  of  an  unlucky  retributive  knock  on 
the  head.  But  he  feared  laughter  would  overclimb 
speech ;  and,  indeed,  with  all  expression  of  sym- 
pathy stifled,  he  did  not  succeed  so  completely  in 
hiding  the  conflicting  emotion  but  that  Joseph  did 
once  turn  his  pale,  grave  face  surprisedly,  hearing  a 
snuffling  sound,  suddenly  stifled  in  a  drawer  of  corks. 


Clotilde  as  a  Surgeon  305 

Said  Raoul,  with  an  unsteady  utterance,  as  he 
slammed  the  drawer: 

"  H-h-dat  makes  me  dat  I  can't  'elp  to  laugh 
w'en  I  t'ink  of  dat  fool  yesse'dy  w'at  want  to  buy 
my  pigshoe  for  honly  one  'undred  dolla'  —  ha,  ha 
ha,  ha  !  " 

He  laughed  almost  indecorously. 

"  Raoul,"  said  Frowenfeld,  rising  and  closing  his 
eyes,  "  I  am  going  back  for  my  hat.  It  would 
make  matters  worse  for  that  person  to  send  it  to 
me,  and  it  would  be  something  like  a  vindication 
for  me  to  go  back  to  the  house  and  get  it." 

Mr.  Innerarity  was  about  to  make  strenuous  ob- 
jection, when  there  came  in  one  whom  he  recognized 
as  an  attache  of  his  cousin  Honore's  counting-room, 
and  handed  the  apothecary  a  note.  It  contained 
Honore's  request  that  if  Frowenfeld  was  in  his  shop 
he  would  have  the  goodness  to  wait  there  until  the 
writer  could  call  and  see  him. 

"  I  will  wait,"  was  the  reply. 


XXXV 

"  FO'    WAD    YOU    CRYNE?" 

Clotilde,  a  step  or  two  from  home,  dismissed 
her  attendant,  and  as  Aurora,  with  anxious  haste, 
opened  to  her  familiar  knock,  appeared  before  her 
pale  and  trembling. 

"  Ah,  ma  file " 


306  The  Grandissimes 

The  overwrought  girl  dropped  her  head  and 
wept  without  restraint  upon  her  mother's  neck. 
She  let  herself  be  guided  to  a  chair,  and  there,  while 
Aurora  nestled  close  to  her  side,  yielded  a  few 
moments  to  reverie  before  she  was  called  upon  to 
speak.  Then  Aurora  first  quietly  took  possession 
of  her  hands,  and  after  another  tender  pause  asked 
in  English,  which  was  equivalent  to  whispering : 

"  Were  you  was,  ch'erie ?  " 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel' " 

Aurora  straightened  up  with  angry  astonishment 
and  drew  in  her  breath  for  an  emphatic  speech,  but 
Clotilde,  liberating  her  own  hands,  took  Aurora's, 
and  hurriedly  said,  turning  still  paler  as  she 
spoke : 

"'E  godd  his  'ead  strigue !  'Tis  all  knog  in 
be'ine  !     'E  come  in  blidding " 

"In  w'ere  ?  "  cried  Aurora. 

"  In  'is  shob." 

"  You  was  in  dad  shob  of  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  ?  " 

"  I  wend  ad  'is  shob  to  pay  doze  rend." 

"  How  —  you  wend  ad  'is  shob  to  pay " 

Clotilde  produced  the  bracelet.  The  two  looked 
at  each  other  in  silence  for  a  moment,  while  Aurora 
took  in  without  further  explanation  Clotilde's  proj- 
ect and  its  failure. 

"An'  'Sieur  Frowenfel' — dey  kill  'im  ?  Ah! 
Ma  ckere,  fo'  wad  you  mague  me  to  hass  all  dose 
question  ?  " 

Clotilde  gave  a  brief  account  of  the  matter,  omit- 
ting only  her  conversation  with  Frowenfeld. 


"  Fo'  Wad  You  Cryne  ?  "  307 

"  Mais,  00  strigue  'im  ?  "  demanded  Aurora,  im- 
patiently. 

"  Addunno  !  "  replied  the  other.  "  Bud  I  does 
know  'e  is  hinnocen'  !  " 

A  small  scouting-party  of  tears  reappeared  on 
the  edge  of  her  eyes. 

"  Innocen'  from  wad  ?  " 

Aurora  betrayed  a  twinkle  of  amusement. 

"  Hev'ryt'in',  iv  you  pliz  !  "  exclaimed  Clotilde, 
with  most  uncalled-for  warmth. 

"  An*  you  crah  bic-ause  'e  is  nod  guiltie  ?  " 

"  Ah  !   foolish  !  " 

"  Ah,  non,  my  chile,  I  know  fo'  wad  you  cryne : 
'tis  h-only  de  sighd  of  de  blood." 

"Oh,  sighd  of  blood!" 

Clotilde  let  a  little  nervous  laugh  escape  through 
her  dejection. 

"Well,  then,"  —  Aurora's  eyes  twinkled  like 
stars,  — "  id  muz  be  bic-ause  'Sieur  Frowenfel' 
bump  'is  'ead  —  ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

"  'T  is  nod  tru'  !  "  cried  Clotilde  ;  but,  instead 
of  laughing,  as  Aurora  had  supposed  she  would, 
she  sent  a  double  flash  of  light  from  her  eves, 
crimsoned,  and  retorted,  as  the  tears  again  sprang 
from  their  lurking-place,  "You  wand  to  mague 
ligue  you  don't  kyah !  But  I  know  !  I  know 
verrie  well  !  You  kyah  fifty  rime'  as  mudge  as 
me!  I  know  you!  I  know  you!  I  bin  wadge 
you  !  " 

Aurora  was  quite  dumb  for  a  moment,  and  gazed 
at  Clotilde,  wondering   what  could   have  made  her 


3°< 


The  Grandissimes 


so  unlike  herself.  Then  she  half  rose  up,  and,  as 
she  reached  forward  an  arm,  and  laid  it  tenderly 
about  her  daughter's  neck,  said  : 

"  Ma  lill  dotter,  wad  dad  meggin  you  cry  ?  Iv 
you  will  tell  me  wad  dad  mague  you  cry,  I  will  tell 
you  —  on  ma  second  word  of  honor"  —  she  rolled 
up  her  fist  —  "juz  wad  I  thing  about  dad  'Sieur 
Frowenfel'  !  " 

"  I  don't  kyah  wad  de  whole  worl'  thing  aboud 
'im  !  " 

"  Mais,  anny'ow,  tell  me  fo'  wad  you  cryne  1 " 

Clotilde  gazed  aside  for  a  moment  and  then  con- 
fronted her  questioner  consentingly. 

"  I  tole  'im  I  knowed  'e  was  h-innocen'." 

"  Eh,  bien,  dad  was  h-only  de  poli-i-idenez. 
Wad  'e  said  ?  " 

"  E  said  I  din  knowed  'im  'tall." 

"  An'  you,"  exclaimed  Aurora,  "  it  is  nod  poz- 
zyble  dad  you " 

"  I  tole  'im  I  know  'im  bette'n  'e  know  annyt'in* 
'boud  id  !  " 

The  speaker  dropped  her  face  into  her  mother's 
lap. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  Aurora,  "  an'  wad  of  dad  ?  I 
would  say  dad,  me,  fo'  time'  a  day.  I  gi'e  you  my 
word  'e  don  godd  dad  sens'  to  know  wad  dad  mean." 

"  Ah  !  don  godd  sens'  !  "  cried  Clotilde,  lifting 
her  head  up  suddenly  with  a  face  of  agony. 
" 'E  reg  —  'e  reggo-ni-i-ize  me!" 

Aurora  caught  her  daughter's  cheeks  between  her 
hands  and  laughed  all  over  them. 


"  Fo'  Wad  You  Cryne  ?  "  309 

"  Mais,  don  you  see  'ow  dad  was  luggy  ?  Now, 
you  know?  —  'e  goin'  fall  in  love  wid  you  an'  you 
goin'  'ave  dad  sadizfagzion  to  rif-use  de  biggis' 
hand  in  Noo-'leans.  An'  you  will  be  h-even,  ha, 
ha  !  Bud  me  —  you  wand  to  know  wad  I  thing 
aboud 'im  ?  I  thing  'e  is  one — egcellen'  drug-cl 
—  ah,  ha,  ha!  " 

Clotilde  replied  with  a  smile  of  grieved  incredulity. 

"  De  bez  in  de  ciddy  ! "  insisted  the  other.  She 
crossed  the  forefinger  of  one  hand  upon  that  of  the 
other  and  kissed  them,  reversed  the  cross  and 
kissed  them  again.  "  Mais,  ad  de  sem  tarn,"  she 
added,  giving  her  daughter  time  to  smile,  "  I  thing 
'e  is  one  noble  gerileman.  Nod  to  sood  me,  of  coze, 
mats,  fa  fait  rien  —  daz  nott'n ;  me,  I  am  now  a 
h'ole  woman,  you  know,  eh  ?  Noboddie  can' 
nevva  sood  me  no  mo',  nod  ivven  dad  Govenno' 
Cleb-orne." 

She  tried  to  look  old  and  jaded. 

"  Ah,  Govenno'  Cleb-orne  !  "  exclaimed  Clotilde. 

"  Yass  !  —  Ah,  you!  —  you  thing  iv  a  man  is 
nod  a  Creole  'e  bown  to  be  no  'coun' !  I  assu'  you 
dey  don'  godd  no  boddy  wad  I  fine  a  so  nize  gen- 
'leman  lag  Govenno'  Cleb-orne  !  Ah  !  Clotilde, 
you  godd  no  lib'ral'ty  !  " 

The  speaker  rose,  cast  a  discouraged  parting 
look  upon  her  narrow-minded  companion  and 
went  to  investigate  the  slumbrous  silence  of  the 
kitchen. 


2  i  o  The  Grandissimes 

CHAPTER   XXXVI 

aurora's   last   picayune 

Not  often  in  Aurora's  life  had  joy  and  trem- 
bling so  been  mingled  in  one  cup  as  on  this  day. 
Clotilde  wept ;  and  certainly  the  mother's  heart 
could  but  respond ;  yet  Clotilde's  tears  filled  her 
with  a  secret  pleasure  which  fought  its  way  up  into 
the  beams  of  her  eyes  and  asserted  itself  in  the  fre- 
quency and  heartiness  of  her  laugh  despite  her 
sincere  participation  in  her  companion's  distresses 
and  a  fearful  looking  forward  to  to-morrow. 

Why  these  flashes  of  gladness  ?  If  we  do  not 
know,  it  is  because  we  have  overlooked  one  of  her 
sources  of  trouble.  From  the  night  of  the  bal 
masque  she  had  —  we  dare  say  no  more  than  that 
she  had  been  haunted  ;  she  certainly  would  not  at 
first  have  admitted  even  so  much  to  herself.  Yet 
the  fact  was  not  thereby  altered,  and  first  the  fact 
and  later  the  feeling  had  given  her  much  distress 
of  mind.  Who  he  was  whose  image  would  not 
down,  for  a  long  time  she  did  not  know.  This, 
alone,  was  torture ;  not  merely  because  it  was 
mystery,  but  because  it  helped  to  force  upon  her 
consciousness  that  her  affections,  spite  of  her,  were 
ready  and  waiting  for  him  and  he  did  not  come 
after  them.  That  he  loved  her,  she  knew ;  she 
had  achieved  at  the  ball  an  overwhelming  victory, 
to  her  certain  knowledge,  or,  depend  upon  it,  she 
never  would  have  unmasked  —  never. 


Aurora's  Last  Picayune  3  1 1 

But  with  this  torture  was  mingled  not  only  the 
ecstasy  of  loving,  but  the  fear  of  her  daughter. 
This  is  a  world  that  allows  nothing  without  its 
obverse  and  reverse.  Strange  differences  are  often 
seen  between  the  two  sides  ;  and  one  of  the  strangest 
and  most  inharmonious  in  this  world  of  human 
relations  is  that  coinage  which  a  mother  sometimes 
finds  herself  offering  to  a  daughter,  and  which  reads 
on  one  side,  Bridegroom,  and  on  the  other,  Step- 
father. 

Then,  all  this  torture  to  be  hidden  under  smiles  ! 
Worse  still,  when  by  and  by  Messieurs  Agoussou, 
Assonquer,  Danny  and  others  had  been  appealed 
to  and  a  Providence  boundless  in  tender  compas- 
sion had  answered  in  their  stead,  she  and  her  lover 
had  simultaneously  discovered  each  other's  identity 
only  to  find  that  he  was  a  Montague  to  her  Capu- 
let.  And  the  source  of  her  agony  must  be  hidden, 
and  falsely  attributed  to  the  rent  deficiency  and 
their  unprotected  lives.  Its  true  nature  must  be 
concealed  even  from  Clotilde.  What  a  secret  — 
for  what  a  spirit  —  to  keep  from  what  a  companion! 
—  a  secret  yielding  honey  to  her,  but,  it  might  be, 
gall  to  Clotilde.  She  felt  like  one  locked  in  the 
Garden  of  Eden  all  alone  —  alone  with  all  the  rav- 
ishing flowers,  alone  with  all  the  lions  and  tigers. 
She  wished  she  had  told  the  secret  when  it  was 
small  and  had  let  it  increase  by  gradual  accretions 
in  Clotilde's  knowledge  day  by  day.  At  first  it 
had  been  but  a  garland,  then  it  had  become  a  chain, 
now  it  was  a  ball  and  chain;  and  it  was  oh!  and 


31 


The  Grandissimes 


oh!  if  Clotilde  would  only  fall  in  love  herself! 
How  that  would  simplify  matters !  More  than 
twice  or  thrice  she  had  tried  to  reveal  her  over- 
strained heart  in  broken  sections ;  but  on  her 
approach  to  the  very  outer  confines  of  the  matter, 
Clotilde  had  always  behaved  so  strangely,  so  ner- 
vously, in  short,  so  beyond  Aurora's  compre- 
hension, that  she  invariably  failed  to  make  any 
revelation. 

And  now,  here  in  the  very  central  darkness  of 
this  cloud  of  troubles,  comes  in  Clotilde,  throws 
herself  upon  the  defiant  little  bosom  so  full  of 
hidden  suffering,  and  weeps  tears  of  innocent  con- 
fession that  in  a  moment  lay  the  dust  of  half  of 
Aurora's  perplexities.  Strange  world  !  The  tears 
of  the  orphan  making  the  widow  weep  for  joy,  if 
she  only  dared. 

The  pair  sat  down  opposite  each  other  at  their 
little  dinner-table.  They  had  a  fixed  hour  for 
dinner.  It  is  well  to  have  a  fixed  hour;  it  is  in 
the  direction  of  system.  Even  if  you  have  not 
the  dinner,  there  is  the  hour.  Alphonsina  was  not 
in  perfect  harmony  with  this  fixed-hour  idea.  It 
was  Aurora's  belief,  often  expressed  in  hungry 
moments  with  the  laugh  of  a  vexed  Creole  lady  (a 
laugh  worthy  of  study),  that  on  the  day  when 
dinner  should  really  be  served  at  the  appointed 
hour,  the  cook  would  drop  dead  of  apoplexy  and 
she  of  fright.  She  said  it  to-day,  shutting  her  arms 
down  to  her  side,  closing  her  eyes  with  her  eye- 
brows  raised,  and   dropping  into   her   chair  at   the 


Aurora's  Last  Picayune  3 1  3 

table  like  a  dead  bird  from  its  perch.  Not  that 
she  felt  particularly  hungry ;  but  there  is  a  certain 
desultoriness  allowable  at  table  more  than  elsewhere, 
and  which  suited  the  hither-thither  movement  of 
her  conflicting  feelings.  This  is  why  she  had 
wished  for  dinner. 

Boiled  shrimps,  rice,  claret-and-water,  bread  — 
they  were  dining  well  the  day  before  execution. 
Dining  is  hardly  correct,  either,  for  Clotilde,  at 
least,  did  not  eat ;  they  only  sat.  Clotilde  had, 
too,  if  not  her  unknown,  at  least  her  unconfessed 
emotions.  Aurora's  were  tossed  by  the  waves,  hers 
were  sunken  beneath  them.  Aurora  had  a  faith 
that  the  rent  would  be  paid  —  a  faith  which  was 
only  a  vapor,  but  a  vapor  gilded  by  the  sun  —  that 
is,  by  Apollo,  or,  to  be  still  more  explicit,  by 
Honore  Grandissime.  Clotilde,  deprived  of  this 
confidence,  had  tried  to  raise  means  wherewith  to 
meet  the  dread  obligation,  or,  rather,  had  tried  to 
try  and  had  failed.  To-day  was  the  ninth,  to- 
morrow, the  street.  Joseph  Frowenfeld  was  hurt; 
her  dependence  upon  his  good  offices  was  gone. 
When  she  thought  of  him  suffering  under  public 
contumely,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  could  feel  the 
big  drops  of  blood  dropping  from  her  heart ;  and 
when  she  recalled  her  own  actions,  speeches,  and 
demonstrations  in  his  presence,  exaggerated  by  the 
groundless  fear  that  he  had  guessed  into  the  deep- 
est springs  of  her  feelings,  then  she  felt  those  drops 
of  blood  congeal.  Even  if  the  apothecary  had  been 
duller  of  discernment  than  she  supposed,  here  was 


3H 


The  Grandissimes 


Aurora  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table,  reading 
every  thought  of  her  inmost  soul.  But  worst  of 
all  was  'Sieur  Frowenfel's  indifference.  It  is  true 
that,  as  he  had  directed  upon  her  that  gaze  of 
recognition,  there  was  a  look  of  mighty  gladness, 
if  she  dared  believe  her  eyes.  But  no,  she  dared 
not ;  there  was  nothing  there  for  her,  she  thought, 
—  probably  (when  this  anguish  of  public  disgrace 
should  by  any  means  be  lifted)  a  benevolent  smile 
at  her  and  her  betrayal  of  interest.  Clotilde  felt  as 
though  she  had  been  laid  entire  upon  a  slide  of 
his  microscope. 

Aurora  at  length  broke  her  reverie. 

"Clotilde,"  —  she  spoke  in  French  —  "the  mat- 
ter with  you  is  that  you  have  no  heart.  You  never 
did  have  any.  Really  and  truly,  you  do  not  care 
whether  'Sieur  Frowenfel'  lives  or  dies.  You  do 
not  care  how  he  is  or  where  he  is  this  minute.  I 
wish  you  had  some  of  my  too  large  heart.  I  not 
only  have  the  heart,  as  I  tell  you,  to  think  kindly 
of  our  enemies,  those  Grandissime,  for  example"  — 
she  waved  her  hand  with  the  air  of  selecting  at  ran- 
dom—  "but  I  am  burning  up  to  know  what  is  the 
condition  of  that  poor,  sick,  noble  'Sieur  Frowenfel', 
and  I  am  going  to  do  it ! " 

The  heart  which  Clotilde  was  accused  of  not 
having  gave  a  stir  of  deep  gratitude.  Dear,  pretty 
little  mother  !  Not  only  knowing  full  well  the 
existence  of  this  swelling  heart  and  the  significance, 
to-day,  of  its  every  warm  pulsation,  but  kindly 
covering    up   the  discovery   with   make-believe   re- 


Aurora's  Last  Picayune  3  1  5 

proaches.  The  tears  started  in  her  eyes  ;  that  was 
her  reply. 

"  Oh,  now  !  it  is  the  rent  again,  I  suppose,"  cried 
Aurora,  "always  the  rent.  It  is  not  the  rent  that 
worries  me,  it  is  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  poor  man.  But 
very  well,  Mademoiselle  Silence,  I  will  match  you 
for  making  me  do  all  the  talking."  She  was  really 
beginning  to  sink  under  the  labor  of  carrying  all 
the  sprightliness  for  both.  "  Come,"  she  said, 
savagely,  "  propose  something." 

"  Would  vou  think  well  to  go  and  inquire  ?  " 

"Ah,  listen!  Go  and  what?  No,  Mademoi- 
selle, I  think  not." 

"Well,  send  Alphonsina." 

"  What  ?  And  let  him  know  that  I  am  anxious 
about  him  ?  Let  me  tell  you,  my  little  girl,  I  shall 
not  drag  upon  myself  the  responsibility  of  increas- 
ing the  self-conceit  of  any  of  that  sex." 

"Well,  then,  send  to  buy  a  picayune's  worth  of 
something." 

"  Ah,  ha,  ha !  An  emetic,  for  instance.  Tell 
him  we  are  poisoned  on  mushrooms,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

Clotilde  laughed  too. 

"  Ah,  no,"  she  said.  "  Send  for  something  he 
does  not  sell." 

Aurora  was  laughing  while  Clotilde  spoke ;  but 
as  she  caught  these  words  she  stopped  with  open- 
mouthed  astonishment,  and,  as  Clotilde  blushed, 
laughed  again. 

"  Oh,  Clotilde,  Clotilde,  Clotilde  !  "  —  she  leaned 
forward  over  the  table,  her  face  beaming  with  love 


2 1 6  The  Grandissimes 

and  laughter  —  "you  rowdy!  you  rascal!  You 
are  just  as  bad  as  your  mother,  whom  you  think  so 
wicked  !     I  accept  your  advice.     Alphonsina  !  " 

"  Momselle  !  " 

The  answer  came  from  the  kitchen. 

"Come  go  —  or,  rather,  —  vim  'ci  courri  dans 
boutique  de  I'apothecaire.  Clotilde,"  she  continued, 
in  better  French,  holding  up  the  coin  to  view, 
"look!" 

"  What  ? " 

"  The  last  picayune  we  have  in  the  world  —  ha, 
ha,  ha ! " 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

HONORE    MAKES    SOME    CONFESSIONS 

"  Comment  ca  va,  Raoul  ?  "  said  Honore  Grandis- 
sime ;  he  had  come  to  the  shop  according  to  the 
proposal  contained  in  his  note.  "Where  is  Mr. 
Frowenfeld  ?  " 

He  found  the  apothecary  in  the  rear  room, 
dressed,  but  just  rising  from  the  bed  at  sound  of 
his  voice.  He  closed  the  door  after  him  ;  they 
shook  hands  and  took  chairs. 

"  You  have  fever,"  said  the  merchant.  "  I  have 
been  troubled  that  way  myself,  some,  lately."  He 
rubbed  his  face  all  over,  hard,  with  one  hand,  and 
looked  at  the  ceiling.  "  Loss  of  sleep,  I  suppose, 
in  both  of  us  ;  in  your  case  voluntary  —  in  pursuit 
of   study,    most    likely ;    in    my    case  —  effect   of 


Honore  makes  some  Confessions       3 1 7 

anxiety."  He  smiled  a  moment  and  then  suddenly 
sobered  as  after  a  pause  he  said: 

"  But  I  hear  you  are  in  trouble  ;  may  I  ask " 

Frowenfeld  had  interrupted  him  with  almost  the 
same  words : 

"  May  I  venture  to  ask,  Mr.  Grandissime, 
what " 

And  both  were  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  Oh,"  said  Honore,  with  a  gesture.  "  My 
trouble —  I  did  not  mean  to  mention  it;  'tis  an  old 
matter  —  in  part.  You  know,  Mr.  Frowenfeld, 
there  is  a  kind  of  tree  not  dreamed  of  in  botany, 
that  lets  fall  its  fruit  every  day  in  the  year — you 
know?  We  call  it  —  with  reverence  —  'our  dead 
father's  mistakes.'  I  have  had  to  eat  much  of  that 
fruit ;  a  man  who  has  to  do  that  must  expect  to 
have  now  and  then  a  little  fever." 

"  I  have  heard,"  replied  Frowenfeld,  "  that  some 
of  the  titles  under  which  your  relatives  hold  their 
lands  are  found  to  be  of  the  kind  which  the  State's 
authorities  are  pronouncing  worthless.  I  hope  this 
is  not  the  case." 

"  I  wish  they  had  never  been  put  into  my 
custody,"  said   M.   Grandissime. 

Some  new  thought  moved  him  to  draw  his  chair 
closer. 

"  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  those  two  ladies  whom  you 
went  to  see  the  other  evening " 

His  listener  started  a  little : 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  they  ever  tell  you  their  history  ? " 


3 1 8  The  Grandissimes 

"No,  sir;  but  I  have  heard  it." 

"  And  you  think  they  have  been  deeply  wronged, 
eh  ?  Come,  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  take  right  hold 
of  the  acacia-bush."  M.  Grandissime  did  not 
smile. 

Frowenfeld  winced.     "  I  think  they  have." 

"And  you  think  restitution  should  be  made  them, 
no  doubt,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  At  any  cost  ?  " 

The  questioner  showed  a  faint,  unpleasant  smile, 
that  stirred  something  like  opposition  in  the  breast 
of  the  apothecary. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered. 

The  next  question  had  a  tincture  even  of  fierce- 
ness : 

"  You  think  it  right  to  sink  fifty  or  a  hundred 
people  into  poverty  to  lift  one  or  two  out  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Grandissime,"  said  Frowenfeld,  slowly, 
"you  bade  me  study  this  community." 

"  I  adv —  yes ;  what  is  it  you  find  ?  " 

"I  find  —  it  may  be  the  same  with  other  com- 
munities, I  suppose  it  is,  more  or  less  —  that  just 
upon  the  culmination  of  the  moral  issue  it  turns 
and  asks  the  question  which  is  behind  it,  instead  of 
the  question  which  is  before  it." 

"  And  what  is  the  question  before  me  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  only  in  the  abstract." 

"  Well  ?  " 

The  apothecary  looked  distressed. 

"  You  should  not  make  me  say  it,"  he  objected. 


Honore  makes  some  Confessions       319 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  the  Creole,  "  I  take  that 
liberty." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "  the  question 
behind  is  Expediency  and  the  question  in  front, 
Divine  Justice.     You  are  asking  yourself " 

He  checked  himself. 

"  Which  I  ought  to  regard,"  said  M.  Grandis- 
sime,  quickly.  "  Expediency,  of  course,  and  be 
like  the  rest  of  mankind."  He  put  on  a  look  of 
bitter  humor.  "  It  is  all  easy  enough  for  you,  Mr. 
Frowenfeld,  my-de'-seh ;  you  have  the  easy  part  — 
the  theorizing." 

He  saw  the  ungenerousness  of  his  speech  as  soon 
as  it  was  uttered,  yet  he  did  not  modify  it. 

"True,  Mr.  Grandissime,"  said  Frowenfeld;  and 
after  a  pause  —  "  but  you  have  the  noble  part  — 
the  doing." 

"  Ah,  my-de'-seh  !  "  exclaimed  Honore  ;  "  the 
noble  part !  There  is  the  bitterness  of  the  draught ! 
The  opportunity  to  act  is  pushed  upon  me,  but  the 
opportunity  to  act  nobly  has  passed  by." 

He  again  drew  his  chair  closer,  glanced  behind 
him  and  spoke  low  : 

"  Because  for  years  I  have  had  a  kind  of  custody 
of  all  my  kinsmen's  property  interests,  Agricola's 
among  them,  it  is  supposed  that  he  has  always  kept 
the  plantation  of  Aurore  Nancanou  (or  rather  of 
Clotilde  —  who,  you  know,  by  our  laws  is  the  real 
heir).  That  is  a  mistake.  Explain  it  as  you 
please,  call  it  remorse,  pride,  love  —  what  you  like 
—  while   I    was  in    France  and    he    was  managing 


320  The  Grandissimes 

my  mother's  business,  unknown  to  me  he  gave 
me  that  plantation.  When  I  succeeded  him  I 
found  it  and  all  its  revenues  kept  distinct — as 
was  but  proper  —  from  all  other  accounts,  and 
belonging  to  me.  'T  was  a  fine,  extensive  place, 
had  a  good  overseer  on  it  and  —  I  kept  it.  Why  ? 
Because  I  was  a  coward.  I  did  not  want  it  or  its 
revenues ;  but,  like  my  father,  I  would  not  offend 
my  people.  Peace  first  and  justice  afterwards  — 
that  was  the  principle  on  which  I  quietly  made 
myself  the  trustee  of  a  plantation  and  income 
which  you  would  have  given  back  to  their  owners, 
eh?" 

Frowenfeld  was  silent. 

"  My-de'-seh,  recollect  that  to  us  the  Grandissime 
name  is  a  treasure.  And  what  has  preserved  it  so 
long?  Cherishing  the  unity  of  our  family;  that 
has  done  it ;  that  is  how  my  father  did  it.  Just  or 
unjust,  good  or  bad,  needful  or  not,  done  elsewhere 
or  not,  I  do  not  say ;  but  it  is  a  Creole  trait.  See, 
even  now  "  (the  speaker  smiled  on  one  side  of  his 
mouth)  "  in  a  certain  section  of  the  territory  certain 
men,  Creoles  "  (he  whispered,  gravely),  "some  Gran- 
dissimes among  them,  evading  the  United  States 
revenue  laws  and  even  beating  and  killing  some 
of  the  officials :  well !  Do  the  people  at  large 
repudiate  those  men  ?  My-de'-seh,  in  no  wise, 
seh  !  No  ;  if  they  were  Am'ericains  —  but  a  Lou- 
isianian — is  a  Louisianian  ;  touch  him  not;  when 
you  touch  him  you  touch  all  Louisiana  !  So  with 
us  Grandissimes  ;  we  are  legion,  but  we  are    one. 


Honore  makes  some  Confessions       321 

Now,  my-de'-seh,  the  thing  you  ask  me  to  do  is 
to  cast  overboard  that  old  traditional  principle 
which   is   the   secret  of  our   existence." 

"  /  ask  you  ?  " 

"  Ah,  bah  !  you  know  you  expect  it.  Ah  !  but 
you  do  not  know  the  uproar  such  an  action  would 
make.  And  no  '  noble  part '  in  it,  my-de'-seh, 
either.  A  few  months  ago  —  when  we  met  by 
those  graves  —  if  I  had  acted  then,  my  action 
would  have  been  one  of  pure  —  even  violent  — 
j^-sacrifice.  Do  you  remember  —  on  the  levee, 
by  the  Place  d'Armes  —  me  asking  you  to  send 
Agricola  to  me  ?  I  tried  then  to  speak  of  it.  He 
would  not  let  me.  Then,  my  people  felt  safe  in 
their  land-titles  and  public  offices  ;  this  restitution 
would  have  hurt  nothing  but  pride.  Now,  titles 
in  doubt,  government  appointments  uncertain,  no 
ready  capital  in  reach  for  any  purpose,  except  that 
which  would  have  to  be  handed  over  with  the  plan- 
tation (for  to  tell  you  the  fact,  my-de'-seh,  no  other 
account  on  my  books  has  prospered),  with  matters 
changed  in  this  way,  I  become  the  destroyer  of  my 
own  flesh  and  blood !  Yes,  seh  !  and  lest  I  might 
still  find  some  room  to  boast,  another  change  moves 
me  into  a  position  where  it  suits  me,  my-de'-seh,  to 
make  the  restitution  so  fatal  to  those  of  my  name. 
When  you  and  I  first  met,  those  ladies  were  as 
much  strangers  to  me  as  to  you  —  as  far  as  I  knew. 

Then,  if  I    had  done    this  thing but    now  — 

now,  mv-de'-seh,  I  find  myself  in  love  with  one 
of  them  !  " 


322 


The  Grandissimes 


M.  Grandissime  looked  his  friend  straight  in  the 
eye  with  the  frowning  energy  of  one  who  asserts  an 
ugly  fact. 

Frowenfeld,  regarding  the  speaker  with  a  gaze 
of  respectful  attention,  did  not  falter ;  but  his 
fevered  blood,  with  an  impulse  that  started  him 
half  from  his  seat,  surged  up  into  his  head  and 
face  ;  and  then 

M.  Grandissime  blushed. 

In  the  few  silent  seconds  that  followed,  the 
glances  of  the  two  friends  continued  to  pass  into 
each  other's  eyes,  while  about  Honore's  mouth 
hovered  the  smile  of  one  who  candidly  surrenders 
his  innermost  secret,  and  the  lips  of  the  apothecary 
set  themselves  together  as  though  he  were  whisper- 
ing to  himself  behind  them,  "  Steady." 

"  Mr.  Frowenfeld,"  said  the  Creole,  taking  a 
sudden  breath  and  waving  a  hand,  "  I  came  to  ask 
about  your  trouble;  but  if  you  think  you  have  any 
reason  to  withhold  your  confidence " 

"  No,  sir;  no  !  But  can  I  be  no  help  to  you  in 
this  matter  ?  " 

The  Creole  leaned  back  smilingly  in  his  chair 
and  knit  his  fingers. 

"  No,  I  did  not  intend  to  say  all  this ;  I  came  to 
offer  my  help  to  you  ;  but  my  mind  is  full  — what 
do  you  expect?  My-de'-seh,  the  foam  must  come 
first  out  of  the  bottle.  You  see  " — he  leaned  for- 
ward again,  laid  two  fingers  in  his  palm  and 
deepened  his  tone  —  "I  will  tell  you :  this  tree 
—  '  our  dead  father's  mistakes  ' —  is  about  to  drop 


Honore  makes  some  Confessions 


323 


another  rotten  apple.  I  spoke  just  now  of  the 
uproar  this  restitution  would  make  ;  why,  my-de'- 
seh,  just  the  mention  of  the  lady's  name  at  my 
house,  when  we  lately  held  the/?/<?  de  grandpere,  has 
given  rise  to  a  quarrel  which  is  likely  to  end  in  a 
duel." 

"  Raoul  was  telling  me,"  said  the  apothecary. 

M.  Grandissime  made  an  affirmative  gesture. 

"  Mr.  Frowenfeld,  if  you  —  if  any  one  —  could 
teach  my  people  —  I  mean  my  family  —  the  value 
of  peace  (I  do  not  say  the  duty,  my-de'-seh  ; 
a  merchant  talks  of  values)  ;  if  you  could  teach 
them  the  value  of  peace,  I  would  give  you,  if  that 
was  your  price "  —  he  ran  the  edge  of  his  left 
hand  knife-wise  around  the  wrist  of  his  right  — 
"  that.  And  if  you  would  teach  it  to  the  whole 
community  —  well  —  I  think  I  would  not  give 
my  head;  maybe  you  would."     He  laughed. 

"  There  is  a  peace  which  is  bad,"  said  the  con- 
templative apothecary. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Creole,  promptly,  "  the  very 
kind  that  I  have  been  keeping  all  this  time — and 
my  father  before  me  !  " 

He  spoke  with  much  warmth. 

"Yes,"  he  said  again,  after  a  pause  which  was 
not  a  rest,  "  I  often  see  that  we  Grandissimes  are  a 
good  example  of  the  Creoles  at  large  ;  we  have  one 
element  that  makes  for  peace ;  that  —  pardon  the 
self-consciousness  —  is  myself;  and  another  element 
that  makes  for  strife — led  by  mv  uncle  Agricola ; 
but,   my-de'-seh,   the  peace  element  is    that  which 


324 


The  Grandissimes 


ought  to  make  the  strife,  and  the  strife  element  is 
that  which  ought  to  be  made  to  keep  the  peace  ! 
Mr.  Frowenfeld,  I  propose  to  become  the  strife- 
maker  ;  how  then,  can  I  be  a  peacemaker  at  the 
same  time  ?     There   is   my  diffycultie." 

"Mr.  Grandissime,"  exclaimed  Frowenfeld,  "  if 
you  have  any  design  in  view  founded  on  the  high 
principles  which  I  know  to  be  the  foundations  of 
all  your  feelings,  and  can  make  use  of  the  aid  of  a 
disgraced  man,  use  me." 

"  You  are  very  generous,"  said  the  Creole,  and 
both  were  silent.  Honore  dropped  his  eyes  from 
Frowenfeld's  to  the  floor,  rubbed  his  knee  with  his 
palm,  and  suddenly  looked  up. 

"  You  are  innocent  of  wrong  ?  " 

"  Before  God." 

"  I  feel  sure  of  it.  Tell  me  in  a  few  words  all 
about  it.  I  ought  to  be  able  to  extricate  you.  Let 
me  hear  it." 

Frowenfeld  again  told  as  much  as  he  thought  he 
could,  consistently  with  his  pledges  to  Palmyre, 
touching  with  extreme  lightness  upon  the  part 
taken  by  Clotilde. 

"  Turn  around,"  said  M.  Grandissime  at  the 
close  ;  "  let  me  see  the  back  of  your  head.  And  it 
is  that  that  is  giving  you  this  fever,  eh  ?  " 

"  Partly,"  replied  Frowenfeld ;  "  but  how  shall 
I  vindicate  my  innocence  ?  I  think  I  ought  to  go 
back  openly  to  this  woman's  house  and  get  my  hat. 
I  was  about  to  do  that  when  I  got  your  note  ;  yet 
it  seems  a  feeble  —  even  if  possible — expedient." 


Tests  of  Friendship  325 

"  My  friend,"  said  Honore,  "  leave  it  to  me.  I 
see  your  whole  case,  both  what  you  tell  and  what 
you  conceal.  I  guess  it  with  ease.  Knowing  Pal- 
myre  so  well,  and  knowing  (what  you  do  not)  that 
all  the  voudous  in  town  think  you  a  sorcerer,  I 
know  just  what  she  would  drop  down  and  beg  you 
for — a  ouangan,  ha,  ha!  You  see?  Leave  it  all 
to  me  —  and  your  hat  with  Palmyre,  take  a  febri- 
fuge and  a  nap,  and  await  word  from  me." 

"  And  may  I  offer  you  no  help  in  your  difficulty  ?  " 
asked  the  apothecary,  as  the  two  rose  and  grasped 
hands. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  Creole,  with  a  little  shrug,  "  you 
may  do  anything  you  can — which  will  be  nothing." 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

TESTS    OF    FRIENDSHIP 

Frowenfeld  turned  away  from  the  closing  door, 
caught  his  head  between  his  hands  and  tried  to 
comprehend  the  new  wildness  of  the  tumult  within. 
Honore  Grandissime  avowedly  in  love  with  one 
of  them  —  which  one  ?  Doctor  Keene  visibly  in 
love  with  one  of  them  —  which  one  ?  And  he  ! 
What  meant  this  bounding  joy  that,  like  one  gor- 
geous moth  among  innumerable  bats,  flashed  to  and 
fro  among  the  wild  distresses  and  dismays  swarming 
in  and  out  of  his  distempered  imagination  ?  He 
did   not   answer   the  question  ;    he  only   knew   the 


326  The  Grandissimes 

confusion  in  his  brain  was  dreadful.  Both  hands 
could  not  hold  back  the  throbbing  of  his  temples  ; 
the  table  did  not  steady  the  trembling  of  his  hands; 
his  thoughts  went  hither  and  thither,  heedless  of 
his  call.  Sit  down  as  he  might,  rise  up,  pace  the 
room,  stand,  lean  his  forehead  against  the  wall  — 
nothing  could  quiet  the  fearful  disorder,  until  at 
length  he  recalled  Honore's  neglected  advice  and 
resolutely  lay  down  and  sought  sleep  ;  and,  long 
before  he  had  hoped  to  secure  it,  it  came. 

In  the  distant  Grandissime  mansion,  Agricola 
Fusilier  was  casting  about  for  ways  and  means  to 
rid  himself  of  the  heaviest  heart  that  ever  had 
throbbed  in  his  bosom.  He  had  risen  at  sunrise 
from  slumber  worse  than  sleeplessness,  in  which  his 
dreams  had  anticipated  the  duel  of  to-morrow  with 
Sylvestre.  He  was  trying  to  get  the  unwonted 
quaking  out  of  his  hands  and  the  memory  of  the 
night's  heart-dissolving  phantasms  from  before  his 
inner  vision.  To  do  this  he  had  resort  to  a  very 
familiar,  we  may  say  time-honored,  prescription  — 
rum.  He  did  not  use  it  after  the  voudou  fashion  ; 
the  voudous  pour  it  on  the  ground  —  Agricola  was 
an  a^ti-voudou.  It  finally  had  its  effect.  By 
eleven  o'clock  he  seemed,  outwardly  at  least,  to  be 
at  peace  with  everything  in  Louisiana  that  he  con- 
sidered Louisianian,  properly  so-called ;  as  to  all 
else  he  was  ready  for  war,  as  in  peace  one  should 
be.  While  in  this  mood,  and  performing  at  a  side- 
board the  solemn  rite  of  las  onze,  news  incidentally 
reached   him,   by   the  mouth  of  his    busy  second, 


Tests  of  Friendship  327 

Hippolyte,  of  Frowenfeld's  trouble,  and  despite 
'Polyte's  protestations  against  the  principal  in  a 
pending  "  affair  "  appearing  on  the  street,  he  ordered 
the  carriage  and  hurried  to  the  apothecary's. 

When  Frowenfeld  awoke,  the  fingers  of  his 
clock  were  passing  the  meridan.  His  fever  was 
gone,  his  brain  was  calm,  his  strength  in  good 
measure  had  returned.  There  had  been  dreams  in 
his  sleep,  too  ;  he  had  seen  Clotilde  standing  at  the 
foot  of  his  bed.  He  lay  now,  for  a  moment,  lost 
in   retrospection. 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  about  it,"  said  he,  as  he 
rose  up,  looking  back  mentally  at  something  in  the 
past. 

The  sound  of  carriage-wheels  attracted  his  atten- 
tion by  ceasing  before  his  street  door.  A  moment 
later  the  voice  of  Agricola  was  heard  in  the  shop 
greeting  Raoul.  As  the  old  man  lifted  the  head 
of  his  staff  to  tap  on  the  inner  door,  Frowenfeld 
opened    it. 

"  Fusilier  to  the  rescue  !  "  said  the  great  Louisi- 
anian,  with  a  grasp  of  the  apothecary's  hand  and  a 
gaze  of  brooding  admiration. 

Joseph  gave  him  a  chair,  but  with  magnificent 
humility  he  insisted  on  not  taking  it  until  "  Profes- 
sor Frowenfeld"  had  himself  sat  down. 

The  apothecary  was  very  solemn.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  if  in  this  little  back  room  his  dead  good 
name  was  lying  in  state,  and  these  visitors  were 
coming  in  to  take  their  last  look.     From  time  to 


328  The  Grandissimes 

time  he  longed  for  more  light,  wondering  why  the 
gravity  of  his  misadventure  should  seem  so  great. 

"  H-m-h-y  dear  Professor  !  "  began  the  old  man. 
Pages  of  print  could  not  comprise  all  the  meanings 
of  his  smile  and  accent ;  benevolence,  affection,  as- 
sumed knowledge  of  the  facts,  disdain  of  results, 
remembrance  of  his  own  youth,  charity  for  pranks, 
patronage  —  these  were  but  a  few.  He  spoke  very 
slowly  and  deeply  and  with  this  smile  of  a  hundred 
meanings.  "  Why  did  you  not  send  for  me,  Joseph  ? 
Sir,  whenever  you  have  occasion  to  make  a  list  of 
the  friends  who  will  stand  by  you,  right  or  wrong  — 
h-write  the  name  of  Citizen  Agricola  Fusilier  at  the 
top  !  Write  it  large  and  repeat  it  at  the  bottom  ! 
You  understand  me,  Joseph?  —  and,  mark  me, — 
right  or  wrong  !  " 

"  Not  wrong,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "  at  least  not  in 
defence  of  wrong ;  I  could  not  do  that ;  but,  I  as- 
sure you,  in  this  matter  I  have  done " 

"  No  worse  than  any  one  else  would  have  done 
under  the  circumstances,  my  dear  boy  !  —  Nay,  nay, 
do  not  interrupt  me ;  I  understand  you,  I  under- 
stand you.  H-do  you  imagine  there  is  anything 
strange  to  me  in  this  —  at  my  age  ?  " 

"But  I  am " 

" all  right,  sir  !  that  is  what  you  are.     And 

you  are  under  the  wing  of  Agricola  Fusilier,  the  old 
eagle ;  that  is  where  you  are.  And  you  are  one  of 
my  brood  ;  that  is  who  you  are.  Professor,  listen 
to  your  old  father.  The  —  man  —  makes  —  the  — 
crime !     The   wisdom    of  mankind  never   brought 


Tests  of  Friendship  329 

forth  a  maxim  of  more  gigantic  beauty.  If  the 
different  grades  of  race  and  society  did  not  have 
corresponding  moral  and  civil  liberties,  varying  in 
degree  as  they  vary  —  h-why  !  this  community,  at 
least,  would  go  to  pieces !  See  here  !  Professor 
Frowenfeld  is  charged  with  misdemeanor.  Very 
well,  who  is  he  ?  Foreigner  or  native  ?  Foreigner 
by  sentiment  and  intention,  or  only  by  accident  of 
birth?  Of  our  mental  fibre  —  our  aspirations  — 
our  delights  —  our  indignations  ?  I  answer  for  you, 
Joseph,  yes!  —  yes!  What  then?  H-why,  then 
the  decision  !  Reached  how  ?  By  apologetic  rea- 
sonings ?  By  instinct,  sir !  h-h-that  guide  of  the 
nobly  proud !  And  what  is  the  decision  ?  Not 
guilty.      Professor  Frowenfeld,  absoho  te  !  " 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  apothecary  repeatedly 
tried  to  interrupt  this  speech.  "  Citizen  Fusilier, 
do  you  know  me  no  better  ?  "  —  "  Citizen  Fusilier, 
if  you  will  but  listen!"  —  such  were  the  fragments 
of  his  efforts  to  explain.  The  old  man  was  not  so 
confident  as  he  pretended  to  be  that  Frowenfeld 
was  that  complete  proselyte  which  alone  satisfies  a 
Creole  ;  but  he  saw  him  in  a  predicament  and  cast 
to  him  this  life-buoy,  which  if  a  man  should  refuse, 
he  would  deserve  to  drown. 

Frowenfeld  tried  again  to  begin. 

"Mr.  Fusilier " 

"  Citizen  Fusilier  !  " 

"  Citizen,  candor  demands  that  I  undeceive " 

"  Candor  demands  —  h-my  dear  Professor,  let  me 
tell  you  exactly  what  she  demands.     She  demands 


33° 


The  Grandissimes 


that  in  here  —  within  this  apartment  —  we  under- 
stand each  other.     That  demand  is  met." 

"But "  Frowenfeld  frowned  impatiently. 

"  That  demand,  Joseph,  is  fully  met !  I  under- 
stand the  whole  matter  like  an  eye-witness  !  Now 
there  is  another  demand  to  be  met,  the  demand  of 
friendship!  In  here,  candor;  outside,  friendship; 
in  here,  one  of  our  brethren  has  been  adventurous 
and  unfortunate  ;  outside  "  —  the  old  man  smiled  a 
smile  of  benevolent  mendacity  —  "  outside,  nothing 
has  happened." 

Frowenfeld  insisted  savagely  on  speaking ;  but 
Agricola  raised  his  voice,  and  gray  hairs  prevailed. 

"  At  least,  what  has  happened  ?  The  most 
ordinary  thing  in  the  world ;  Professor  Frowenfeld 
lost  his  footing  on  a  slippery  gunwale,  fell,  cut  his 
head  upon  a  protruding  spike,  and  went  into  the 
house  of  Palmyre  to  bathe  his  wound ;  but  finding 
it  worse  than  he  had  at  first  supposed  it,  immediately 
hurried  out  again  and  came  to  his  store.  He  left 
his  hat  where  it  had  fallen,  too  muddy  to  be  worth 
recovery.  Hippolyte  Brahmin-Mandarin  and  oth- 
ers, passing  at  the  time,  thought  he  had  met  with 
violence  in  the  house  of  the  hair-dresser,  and  drew 
some  natural  inferences,  but  have  since  been  better 
informed ;  and  the  public  will  please  understand 
that  Professor  Frowenfeld  is  a  white  man,  a  gentle- 
man, and  a  Louisianian,  ready  to  vindicate  his  honor, 
and  that  Citizen  Agricola  Fusilier  is  his  friend  ! " 

The  old  man  looked  around  with  the  air  of  a  bull 
on  a  hill-top. 


Tests  of  Friendship  331 

Frowenfeld,  vexed  beyond  degree,  restrained 
himself  only  for  the  sake  of  an  object  in  view,  and 
contented  himself  with  repeating  for  the  fourth  or 
fifth  time,  — 

"  I  cannot  accept  any  such  deliverance." 

"Professor  Frowenfeld,  friendship  —  society  — 
demands  it ;  our  circle  must  be  protected  in  all  its 
members.  You  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You 
will  leave  it  with  me,  Joseph." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "  I  thank  you, 
but " 

"Ah!  my  dear  boy,  thank  me  not;  I  cannot 
help  these  impulses  ;  I  belong  to  a  warm-hearted 
race.  But "  —  he  drew  back  in  his  chair  sidewise 
and  made  great  pretence  of  frowning  —  "you  de- 
cline the  offices  of  that  precious  possession,  a  Creole 
friend  ?  " 

"  I  only  decline  to  be  shielded  by  a  fiction." 

"  Ah-h  !  "  said  Agricola,  further  nettling  his  vic- 
tim by  a  gaze  of  stagy  admiration.  "  '  Sans  peur  et 
sans  reproche'  —  and  yet  you  disappoint  me.  Is  it 
for  naught,  that  I  have  sallied  forth  from  home, 
drawing  the  curtains  of  my  carriage  to  shield  me 
from  the  gazing  crowd  ?  It  was  to  rescue  my  friend 
—  my  vicar  —  my  coadjutor  —  my  son  —  from  the 
laughs  and  finger-points  of  the  vulgar  mass.  H-I 
might  as  well  have  stayed  at  home  —  or  better,  for 
my  peculiar  position  to-day  rather  requires  me  to 
keep  in " 

"  No,  citizen,"  said  Frowenfeld,  laying  his  hand 
upon  Agricola's  arm,  "  I  trust  it  is  not  in  vain  that 


332 


The  Grandissimes 


you  have  come  out.  There  is  a  man  in  trouble 
whom  only  you  can  deliver." 

The  old  man  began  to  swell  with  complacency. 

"  H-why,  really " 

"  He,  Citizen,  is  truly  of  your  kind " 

"  He  must  be  delivered,  Professor  Frowen- 
feld " 

"  He  is  a  native  Louisianian,  not  only  by  acci- 
dent of  birth  but  by  sentiment  and  intention,"  said 
Frowenfeld. 

The  old  man  smiled  a  benign  delight,  but  the 
apothecary  now  had  the  upper  hand,  and  would  not 
hear  him  speak. 

"  His  aspirations,"  continued  the  speaker,  "  his 
indignations  —  mount  with  his  people's.  His  pulse 
beats  with  yours,  sir.  He  is  a  part  of  your  circle. 
He  is  one  of  your  caste." 

Agricola  could  not  be  silent. 

"  Ha-a-a-ah  !  Joseph,  h-h-you  make  my  blood 
tingle  !     Speak  to  the  point ;  who " 

"  I  believe  him,  moreover,  Citizen  Fusilier,  inno- 
cent of  the  charge  laid " 

"  H-innocent  ?  H-of  course  he  is  innocent,  sir  ! 
We  will  make  him  inno " 

"  Ah  !  Citizen,  he  is  already  under  sentence  of 
death  !  " 

"  What  ?  A  Creole  under  sentence  !  "  Agricola 
swore  a  heathen  oath,  set  his  knees  apart  and 
grasped  his  staff  by  the  middle.  "  Sir,  we  will  lib- 
erate him  if  we  have  to  overturn  the  govern- 
ment !  " 


Tests  of  Friendship  333 

Frowenfeld  shook  his  head. 

"You  have  got  to  overturn  something  stronger 
than  government." 

"  And  pray  what " 

"A  conventionality,"  said  Frowenfeld,  holding 
the  old  man's  eye. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  my  b-hoy,  h-you  are  right.  But  we 
will  overturn  —  eh  ?  " 

"  I  say  I  fear  your  engagements  will  prevent.  I 
hear  you  take  part  to-morrow  morning  in " 

Agricola  suddenly  stiffened. 

"  Professor  Frowenfeld,  it  strikes  me,  sir,  you  are 
taking  something  of  a  liberty." 

"  For  which  I  ask  pardon,"  exclaimed  Frowen- 
feld.    "Then  I  may  not  expect " 

The  old  man  melted  again. 

"  But  who  is  this  person  in  mortal  peril  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  hesitated. 

"  Citizen  Fusilier,"  he  said,  looking  first  down  at 
the  floor  and  then  up  into  the  inquirer's  face,  "  on 
my  assurance  that  he  is  not  only  a  native  Creole, 
but  a  Grandissime " 

"  It  is  not  possible  !  "  exclaimed  Agricola. 

" a   Grandissime  of  the   purest   blood,  will 

you  pledge  me  your  aid  to  liberate  him  from  his 
danger,  '  right  or  wrong  '  ?  " 

"  Will  I  ?     H-why,  certainly  !     Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Citizen it  is  Sylves " 

Agricola  sprang  up  with  a  thundering  oath. 

The  apothecary  put  out  a  pacifying  hand,  but  it 
was  spurned. 


334 


The  Grandissimes 


"  Let  me  go  !  How  dare  you,  sir?  How  dare 
you,  sir  ?  "  bellowed  Agricola. 

He  started  toward  the  door,  cursing  furiously  and 
keeping  his  eye  fixed  on  Frowenfeld  with  a  look  of 
rage  not  unmixed  with  terror. 

"  Citizen  Fusilier,"  said  the  apothecary,  following 
him  with  one  palm  uplifted,  as  if  that  would  ward 
off"  his  abuse,  "  don't  go  !  I  adjure  you,  don't  go  ! 
Remember  your  pledge,  Citizen  Fusilier  !  " 

Agricola  did  not  pause  a  moment;  but  when  he 
had  swung  the  door  violently  open  the  way  was  still 
obstructed.  The  painter  of"  Louisiana  refusing  to 
enter  the  Union  "  stood  before  him,  his  head  ele- 
vated loftily,  one  foot  set  forward  and  his  arm  ex- 
tended like  a  tragedian's. 

"  Stan'  bag-sah  !  " 

"  Let  me  pass  !  Let  me  pass,  or  I  will  kill 
you  !  " 

Mr.  Innerarity  smote  his  bosom  and  tossed  his 
hand  aloft. 

"  Kill  me-firse  an'  pass  aftah  !  " 

"  Citizen  Fusilier,"  said  Frowenfeld,  "  I  beg  you 
to  hear  me." 

"  Go  away  !     Go  away  !  " 

The  old  man  drew  back  from  the  door  and  stood 
in  the  corner  against  the  book-shelves  as  if  all  the 
horrors  of  the  last  night's  dreams  had  taken  bodily 
shape  in  the  person  of  the  apothecary.  He  trem- 
bled and  stammered : 

"  Ke  —  keep  off!  Keep  off!  My  God  !  Raoul, 
he  has  insulted  me  !  "      He  made  a  miserable  show 


Tests  of  Friendship  335 

of  drawing  a  weapon.  "  No  man  may  insult  me 
and  live  !  If  you  are  a  man,  Professor  Frowenfeld, 
you  will  defend  yourself!  " 

Frowenfeld  lost  his  temper,  but  his  hasty  reply 
was  drowned  by  Raoul's  vehement  speech. 

"  'T  is  not  de  trute  !  "  cried  Raoul.  "  He  try  to 
save  you  from  hell-'n'-damnation  w'en  'e  h-ought 
to  give  you  a  good  cuss'n  !  "  —  and  in  the  ecstasy 
of  his  anger  burst  into  tears. 

Frowenfeld,  in  an  agony  of  annoyance,  waved 
him  away  and  he  disappeared,  shutting  the  door. 

Agricola,  moved  far  more  from  within  than  from 
without,  had  sunk,  into  a  chair  under  the  shelves. 
His  head  was  bowed,  a  heavy  grizzled  lock  fell 
down  upon  his  dark,  frowning  brow,  one  hand 
clenched  the  top  of  his  staff,  the  other  his  knee, 
and  both  trembled  violently.  As  Frowenfeld,  with 
every  demonstration  of  beseeching  kindness,  began 
to  speak,  he  lifted  his  eyes  and  said,  piteously  : 

"  Stop  !     Stop  !  " 

"  Citizen  Fusilier,  it  is  you  who  must  stop. 
Stop  before  God  Almighty  stops  you,  I  beg  you. 
I  do  not  presume  to  rebuke  you.  I  know  you  want 
a  clear  record.  I  know  it  better  to-day  than  I  ever 
did  before.  Citizen  Fusilier,  I  honor  your  inten- 
tions   " 

Agricola  roused  a  little  and  looked  up  with  a 
miserable  attempt  at  his  habitual  patronizing  smile. 

"  H-my  dear  boy,  I  overlook"  —  but  he  met  in 
Frowenfeld's  eyes  a  spirit  so  superior  to  his  dissim- 
ulation  that  the  smile  quite  broke  down   and  gave 


336  The  Grandissimes 

way  to  another  of  deprecatory  and  apologetic  distress. 
He  reached  up  an  arm. 

"  I  could  easily  convince  you,  Professor,  of  your 
error  "  —  his  eyes  quailed  and  dropped  to  the  floor 
—  "but  I  —  your  arm,  my  dear  Joseph;  age  is 
creeping  upon  me."  He  rose  to  his  feet.  "  I  am 
feeling  really  indisposed  to-day  —  not  at  all  bright ; 
my  solicitude  for  you,  my  dear  b " 

He  took  two  or  three  steps  forward,  tottered, 
clung  to  the  apothecary,  moved  another  step  or 
two,  and  grasping  the  edge  of  the  table  stumbled 
into  a  chair  which  Frowenfeld  thrust  under  him. 
He  folded  his  arms  on  the  edge  of  the  board  and 
rested  his  forehead  on  them,  while  Frowenfeld  sat 
down  quickly  on  the  opposite  side,  drew  paper  and 
pen  across  the  table  and  wrote. 

"  Are  you  writing  something,  Professor  ?  "  asked 
the  old  man,  without  stirring.  His  staff  tumbled 
to  the  floor.  The  apothecary's  answer  was  a  low, 
preoccupied  one.  Two  or  three  times  over  he 
wrote  and  rejected  what  he  had  written. 

Presently  he  pushed  back  his  chair,  came  around 
the  table,  laid  the  writing  he  had  made  before  the 
bowed  head,  sat  down  again  and  waited. 

After  a  long  time  the  old  man  looked  up,  trying 
in  vain  to  conceal  his  anguish  under  a  smile. 

"  I  have  a  sad  headache." 

He  cast  his  eyes  over  the  table  and  took  mechan- 
ically the  pen  which  Frowenfeld  extended  toward 
him. 

"  What  can     I    do   for   you,    Professor  ?      Sign 


Louisiana  states  her  Wants  337 

something  ?  There  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  for 
Professor  Frowenfeld.    What  have  you  written,  eh  ? " 

He  felt  helplessly  for  his  spectacles. 

Frowenfeld  read  : 

"  Mr.  Syhestre  Grandissime  :  I  spoke  in  haste." 

He  felt  himself  tremble  as  he  read.  Agricola 
fumbled  with  the  pen,  lifted  his  eyes  with  one  more 
effort  at  the  old  look,  said,  "  My  dear  boy,  I  do 
this  purely  to  please  you,"  and  to  Frowenfeld's 
delight  and  astonishment  wrote : 

"  Tour  affectionate  uncle,  Agricola  Fusilier." 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

LOUISIANA    STATES    HER    WANTS 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',''  said  Raoul  as  that  person 
turned  in  the  front  door  of  the  shop  after  watching 
Agricola's  carriage  roll  away  —  he  had  intended  to 
unburden  his  mind  to  the  apothecary  with  all  his 
natural  impetuosity ;  but  Frowenfeld's  gravity  as 
he  turned,  with  the  paper  in  his  hand,  induced  a 
different  manner.  Raoul  had  learned,  despite  all 
the  impulses  of  his  nature,  to  look  upon  Frowenfeld 
with  a  sort  of  enthusiastic  awe.  He  dropped  his 
voice  and  said  —  asking  like  a  child  a  question  he 
was  perfectly  able  to  answer  — 

"  What  de  matta  wid  Agricole  ?  " 

Frowenfeld,  for  the  moment  well-nigh  oblivious 
of  his  own  trouble,  turned  upon  his  assistant  a  look 


338  The  Grandissimes 

in  which  elation  was  oddly  blended  with  solemnity, 
and  replied  as  he  walked  by  : 

"  Rush  of  truth  to  the  heart." 

Raoul  followed  a  step. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel' " 

The  apothecary  turned  once  more.  Raoul's  face 
bore  an  expression  of  earnest  practicability  that 
invited   confidence. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  Agricola  writ'n'  to  Sylvestre 
to  stop  dat  dool  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  goin'  take  dat  lett'  to  Sylvestre  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  dat  de  wrong  g-way.  You 
got  to  take  it  to  'Polyte  Brahmin-Mandarin,  an'  'e 
got  to  take  it  to  Valentine  Grandissime,  an'  'e  got 
to  take  it  to  Sylvestre.  You  see,  you  got  to  know 
de  manner  to  make.  Once  'pon  a  time  I  had  a 
difFycultie  wid " 

"  I  see,"  said  Frowenfeld  ;  "  where  may  I  find 
Hippolyte  Brahmin- Mandarin  at  this  time  of 
day  ?  " 

Raoul  shrugged. 

"  If  the  pre-parish-ions  are  not  complitted,  you 
will  not  find  'im ;  but  if  they  har  complitted  — 
you  know  'im  ?  " 

"  By  sight." 

"  Well,  you  may  fine  him  at  Maspero's,  or  helse 
in  de  front  of  de  Veau-qui-tete,  or  helse  at  de 
Cafe  Louis  Quatorze  —  mos'  likely  in  front  of  de 
Veau-qui-tete.     You    know,   dat  difFycultie   I   had, 


Louisiana  states  her  Wants  339 

dat  arise  itseff  from  de  discush'n  of  one  of  de 
mil-littery  mov'ments  of  ca-valry ;  you  know, 
I " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  apothecary  ;  "  here,  Raoul,  is 
some  money  ;  please  go  and  buy  me  a  good,  plain 
hat." 

"  All  right."  Raoul  darted  behind  the  counter 
and  got  his  hat  out  of  a  drawer.  "  Were  at  you 
buy  your  hats  ?  " 

"  Anywhere." 

"  I  will  go  at  my  hatter." 

As  the  apothecary  moved  about  his  shop  await- 
ing Raoul's  return,  his  own  disaster  became  once 
more  the  subject  of  his  anxiety.  He  noticed  that 
almost  every  person  who  passed  looked  in.  "  This 
is  the  place," —  "  That  is  the  man," —  how  plainly 
the  glances  of  passers  sometimes  speak  !  The  people 
seemed,  moreover,  a  little  nervous.  Could  even 
so  little  a  city  be  stirred  about  such  a  petty,  private 
trouble  as  this  of  his  ?  No  ;  the  city  was  having 
tribulations  of  its  own. 

New  Orleans  was  in  that  state  of  suppressed 
excitement  which,  in  later  days,  a  frequent  need  of 
reassuring  the  outer  world  has  caused  to  be  de- 
scribed by  the  phrase  "  never  more  peaceable." 
Raoul  perceived  it  before  he  had  left  the  shop 
twenty  paces  behind.  By  the  time  he  reached  the 
first  corner  he  was  in  the  swirl  of  the  popular  cur- 
rent. He  enjoyed  it  like  a  strong  swimmer.  He 
even  drank  of  it.  It  was  better  than  wine  and 
music   mingled. 


34° 


The  Grandissimes 


"  Twelve  weeks  next  Thursday,  and  no  sign  of 
re-cession  !  "  said  one  of  two  rapid  walkers  just 
in  front  of  him.  Their  talk  was  in  the  French 
of  the   province. 

"  Oh,  re-cession  !  "  exclaimed  the  other  angrily. 
"  The  cession  is  a  reality.  That,  at  least,  we  have 
got  to  swallow.      Incredulity  is  dead." 

The  first  speaker's  feelings  could  find  expression 
only  in  profanity. 

"  The  cession  —  we  wash  our  hands  of  it !  "  He 
turned  partly  around  upon  his  companion,  as  they 
hurried  along,  and  gave  his  hands  a  vehement  dry 
washing.  "  If  Incredulity  is  dead,  Non-participa- 
tion reigns  in  its  stead,  and  Discontent  is  prime 
minister  !  "  He  brandished  his  fist  as  they  turned 
a  corner. 

"If  we  must  change,  let  us  be  subjects  of  the 
First  Consul !  "  said  one  of  another  pair  whom 
Raoul  met  on  a  crossing. 

There  was  a  gathering  of  boys  and  vagabonds  at 
the  door  of  a  gun-shop.  A  man  inside  was  buying 
a  gun.     That  was  all. 

A  group  came  out  of  a  "coffee-house."  The 
leader  turned  about  upon  the  rest : 

"Ah,  bah!  cette  Amayrican  libetty  !  " 

"  See  !  see  !  it  is  this  way  !  "  said  another  of  the 
number,  taking  two  others  by  their  elbows,  to  se- 
cure an  audience,  "  we  shall  do  nothing  ourselves  ; 
we  are  just  watching  that  vile  Congress.  It  is  going 
to  tear  the  country  all  to  bits  !  " 

"  Ah,   my    friend,   you     have  n't   got    the    inside 


Louisiana  states  her  Wants  341 

news,"  said  still  another — Raoul  lingered  to  hear  him 
—  "  Louisiana  is  going  to  state  her  wants  !  We  have 
the  liberty  of  free  speech  and  are  going  to  use  it  !  " 

His  information  was  correct ;  Louisiana,  no 
longer  incredulous  of  her  Americanization,  had  laid 
hold  of  her  new  liberties  and  was  beginning  to  run 
with  them,  like  a  boy  dragging  his  kite  over  the 
clods.     She  was  about  to  state  her  wants,  he  said. 

"  And  her  don't-wants,"  volunteered  one  whose 
hand  Raoul  shook  heartily.  "  We  warn  the  world. 
If  Congress  does  n't  take  heed,  we  will  not  be  re- 
sponsible for  the  consequences  !  " 

Raoul's  hatter  was  full  of  the  subject.  As  Mr. 
Innerarity  entered,  he  was  saying  good-day  to  a 
customer  in  his  native  tongue,  English,  and  so 
continued : 

"  Yes,  under  Spain  we  had  a  solid,  quiet  govern- 
ment—  Ah  !  Mr.  Innerarity,  overjoyed  to  see  you! 
We  were  speaking  of  these  political  troubles.  I 
wish  we  might  see  the  last  of  them.  It 's  a  terrible 
bad  mess  ;  corruption  to-day  —  I  tell  you  what  — 
it  will  be  disruption  to-morrow.  Well,  it  is  no 
work  of  ours;  we  shall  merely  stand  off  and  see  it." 

"  Mi-frien',"  said  Raoul,  with  mingled  pity  and 
superiority,  "  you  have  n't  got  doze  inside  nooz  ; 
Louisiana  is  goin'  to  state  w'at  she  want." 

On  his  way  back  toward  the  shop  Mr.  Innerarity 
easily  learned  Louisiana's  wants  and  don't-wants  by 
heart.  She  wanted  a  Creole  governor ;  she  did  not 
want  Casa  Calvo  invited  to  leave  the  country ;  she 
wanted  the  provisions  of  the  Treaty  of  Cession  hur- 


342 


The  Grandissimes 


ried  up ;  "  as  soon  as  possible,"  that  instrument 
said  ;  she  had  waited  long  enough  ;  she  did  not 
want  "  dat  trile  bi-ju'y  " — execrable  trash!  she 
wanted  an  unwatched  import  trade!  she  did  not 
want  a  single  additional  Americain  appointed  to 
office ;  she   wanted   the  slave   trade. 

Just  in  sight  of  the  bare-headed  and  anxious 
Frowenfeld,  Raoul  let  himself  be  stopped  by  a 
friend. 

The  remark  was  exchanged  that  the  times  were 
exciting. 

"  And  yet,"  said  the  friend,  "  the  city  was  never 
more  peaceable.  It  is  exasperating  to  see  that 
coward  governor  looking  so  diligently  after  his 
police  and  hurrying  on  the  organization  of  the 
Americain  volunteer  militia  !  "  He  pointed  savagely 
here  and  there.  "  M.  Innerarity,  I  am  lost  in  ad- 
miration at  the  all  but  craven  patience  with  which 
our  people  endure  their  wrongs  !  Do  my  pistols 
show  too  much  through  my  coat  ?  Well,  good- 
day  ;  I  must  go  home  and  clean  my  gun  ;  my  dear 
friend,  one  don't  know  how  soon  he  may  have  to 
encounter  the  Recorder  and  Register  of  Land-titles." 

Raoul  finished  his  errand. 

"  'Sieur  FrowenfeP,  excuse  me  —  I  take  dat  lett' 
to  'Polyte  for  you  if  you  want."  There  are  times 
when  mere  shopkeeping  —  any  peaceful  routine  — 
is  torture. 

But  the  apothecary  felt  so  himself;  he  declined 
his  assistant's  offer  and  went  out  toward  the  Veau- 
qui-tete. 


Frowenfeld  finds  Sylvestre  343 

CHAPTER   XL 

FROWENFELD    FINDS    SYLVESTRE 

The  Veau-qui-tete  restaurant  occupied  the  whole 
ground  floor  of  a  small,  low,  two-story,  tile-roofed, 
brick-and-stucco  building  which  still  stands  on  the 
corner  of  Chartres  and  St.  Peter  streets,  in  com- 
pany with  the  well-preserved  old  Cabildo  and  the 
young  Cathedral,  reminding  one  of  the  shabby  and 
swarthy  Creoles  whom  we  sometimes  see  helping 
better-kept  kinsmen  to  murder  time  on  the  ban- 
quettes of  the  old  French  Quarter.  It  was  a  favor- 
ite rendezvous  of  the  higher  classes,  convenient  to 
the  court-rooms  and  municipal  bureaus.  There  you 
found  the  choicest  legal  and  political  gossips,  with 
the  best  the  market  afforded  of  meat  and  drink. 

Frowenfeld  found  a  considerable  number  of  per- 
sons there.  He  had  to  move  about  among  them 
to  some  extent,  to  make  sure  he  was  not  overlook- 
ing the  object  of  his  search. 

As  he  entered  the  door,  a  man  sitting  near  it 
stopped  talking,  gazed  rudely  as  he  passed,  and 
then  leaned  across  the  table  and  smiled  and  mur- 
mured to  his  companion.  The  subject  of  his  jest 
felt   their  four  eyes  on  his  back. 

There  was  a  loud  buzz  of  conversation  through- 
out the  room,  but  wherever  he  went  a  wake  of 
momentary  silence  followed  him,  and  once  or  twice 
he  saw  elbows  nudged.      He  perceived  that  there 


344 


The  Grandissimes 


was  something  in  the  state  of  mind  of  these  good 
citizens  that  made  the  present  sight  of  him  particu- 
larly discordant. 

Four  men,  leaning  or  standing  at  a  small  bar, 
were  talking  excitedly  in  the  Creole  patois.  They 
made  frequent  anxious,  yet  amusedly  defiant,  men- 
tion of  a  certain  Pointe  Canadienne.  It  was  a  portion 
of  the  Mississippi  River  "coast"  not  far  above 
New  Orleans,  where  the  merchants  of  the  city  met 
the  smugglers  who  came  up  from  the  Gulf  by  way 
of  Barrataria  Bay  and  Bayou.  These  four  men 
did  not  call  it  by  the  proper  title  just  given ;  there 
were  commercial  gentlemen  in  the  Creole  city, 
Englishmen,  Scotchmen,  Yankees,  as  well  as  French 
and  Spanish  Creoles,  who  in  public  indignantly 
denied,  and  in  private  tittered  over,  their  complicity 
with  the  pirates  of  Grand  Isle,  and  who  knew  their 
trading  rendezvous  by  the  sly  nickname  of  "  Little 
Manchac."  As  Frowenfeld  passed  these  four  men 
they,  too,  ceased  speaking  and  looked  after  him, 
three  with  offensive  smiles  and  one  with  a  stare  of 
contempt. 

Farther  on,  some  Creoles  were  talking  rapidly  to 
an  Americain,  in  English. 

"  And  why  ?  "  one  was  demanding.  "  Because 
money  is  scarce.  Under  other  governments  we  had 
any  quantity  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  venturesome  Americain  in  retort, 
"  such  as  it  was  ;  assignats,  liberanzas,  bonis  —  Clai- 
borne will  give  us  better  money  than  that  when  he 
starts  his  bank." 


Frowenfeld  finds  Sylvestre  345 

"  Hah  !  his  bank,  yes  !  John  Law  once  had  a 
bank,  too ;  ask  my  old  father.  What  do  we  want 
with  a  bank  ?  Down  with  banks  !  "  The  speaker 
ceased ;  he  had  not  finished,  but  he  saw  the 
apothecary.  Frowenfeld  heard  a  muttered  curse, 
an  inarticulate  murmur,  and  then  a  loud  burst  of 
laughter. 

A  tall,  slender  young  Creole  whom  he  knew,  and 
who  had  always  been  greatly  pleased  to  exchange 
salutations,  brushed  against  him  without  turning 
his  eyes. 

"  You  know,"  he  was  saying  to  a  companion, 
"  everybody  in  Louisiana  is  to  be  a  citizen,  except 
the  negroes  and  mules ;  that  is  the  kind  of  liberty 
they  give  us  —  all  eat  out  of  one  trough." 

"  What  we  want,"  said  a  dark,  ill-looking,  but 
finely-dressed  man,  setting  his  claret  down,  "  and 
what  we  have  got  to  have,  is  "  —  he  was  speaking 
in  French,  but  gave  the  want  in  English  — "  Repre- 

sentesh'n  wizout   Taxa "     There   his  eye  fell 

upon  Frowenfeld  and  followed  him  with  a  scowl. 

"  Mah  frang,"  he  said  to  his  table  companion, 
"  wass  you  sink  of  a  mane  w'at  hask-a  one  nee- 
grow  to  'ave-a  one  shair  wiz  'im,  eh  ?  —  in  ze  sem 
room  ?  " 

The  apothecary  found  that  his  fame  was  far  wider 
and  more  general  than  he  had  supposed.  He  turned 
to  go  out,  bowing  as  he  did  so,  to  an  Americain 
merchant  with  whom  he  had  some  acquaintance. 

"  Sir  ?  "  asked  the  merchant,  with  severe  polite- 
ness, "  wish  to  see  me  ?      I   thought  you As 


346  The  Grandissimes 

I  was  saying,  gentlemen,  what,  after  all,  does  it 
sum  up  ? " 

A  Creole  interrupted  him  with  an  answer : 

"  Leetegash'n,  Spoleeash'n,  Pahtitsh'n,  Disinte- 
grhash'n  !  " 

The  voice  was  like  Honore's.  Frowenfeld 
looked ;  it  was  Agamemnon  Grandissime. 

"  I  must  go  to  Maspero's,"  thought  the  apothe- 
cary, and  he  started  up  the  rue  Chartres.  As  he 
turned  into  the  rue  St.  Louis,  he  suddenly  found 
himself  one  of  a  crowd  standing  before  a  newly- 
posted  placard,  and  at  a  glance  saw  it  to  be  one  of 
the  inflammatory  publications  which  were  a  feature 
of  the  times,  appearing  both  daily  and  nightly  on 
walls  and  fences. 

"  One  Amerry-can  pull'  it  down,  an'  Camille 
Brahmin  'e  pas'e  it  back,"  said  a  boy  at  Frowen- 
feld's  side. 

Exchange  Alley  was  once  Passage  de  la  Bourse, 
and  led  down  (as  it  now  does  to  the  State  House 
—  late  St.  Louis  Hotel)  to  an  establishment  which 
seems  to  have  served  for  a  long  term  of  years  as  a 
sort  of  merchants'  and  auctioneers'  coffee-house, 
with  a  minimum  of  china  and  a  maximum  of  glass : 
Maspero's  —  certainly  Maspero's  as  far  back  as 
1810,  and,  we  believe,  Maspero's  the  day  the 
apothecary  entered  it,  March  9,  1804.  It  was  a 
livelier  spot  than  the  Veau-qui-tete ;  it  was  to  that 
what  commerce  is  to  litigation,  what  standing  and 
quaffing  is  to  sitting  and  sipping.  Whenever  the 
public   mind    approached   that  sad  state   of  public 


Frowenfeld  finds  Sylvestre  347 

sentiment  in  which  sanctity  signs  politicians'  memo- 
rials and  chivalry  breaks  into  the  gun-shops,  a  good 
place  to  feel  the  thump  of  the  machinery  was  in 
Maspero's. 

The  first  man  Frowenfeld  saw  as  he  entered  was 
M.  Valentine  Grandissime.  There  was  a  double 
semi-circle  of  gazers  and  listeners  in  front  of  him  ; 
he  was  talking,  with  much  show  of  unconcern,  in 
Creole  French. 

"Policy?  I  care  little  about  policy."  He 
waved  his  hand.  "I  know  my  rights  —  and  Lou- 
isiana's. We  have  a  right  to  our  opinions.  We 
have  "  —  with  a  quiet  smile  and  an  upward  turn  of 
his  extended  palm  —  "a  right  to  protect  them  from 
the  attack  of  interlopers,  even  if  we  have  to  use 
gunpowder.  I  do  not  propose  to  abridge  the  lib- 
erties of  even  this  army  of  fortune-hunters.  Let 
them  think."  He  half  laughed.  "  Who  cares 
whether  they  share  our  opinions  or  not?  Let 
them  have  their  own.  I  had  rather  they  would. 
But  let  them  hold  their  tongues.  Let  them  re- 
member they  are  Yankees.  Let  them  remember 
they  are  unbidden  guests."  All  this  without  the 
least  warmth. 

But  the  answer  came  aglow  with  passion,  from 
one  of  the  semicircle,  whom  two  or  three  seemed 
disposed  to  hold  in  check.  It  also  was  in  French, 
but  the  apothecary  was  astonished  to  hear  his  own 
name  uttered. 

"  But  this  fellow  Frowenfeld  "  —  the  speaker  did 
not  see  Joseph — "  has  never  held  his  tongue.      He 


348  The  Grandissimes 

has  given  us  good  reason  half  a  dozen  times,  with 
his  too  free  speech  and  his  high  moral  whine,  to 
hang  him  with  the  lamppost  rope !  And  now, 
when  we  have  borne  and  borne  and  borne  and 
borne  with  him,  and  he  shows  up,  all  at  once,  in  all 
his  rottenness,  you  say  let  him  alone  !  One  would 
think  you  were  defending  Honore  Grandissime  !  " 
The  back  of  one  of  the  speaker's  hands  fluttered  in 
the  palm  of  the  other. 

Valentine  smiled. 

"Honore  Grandissime?  Boy,  you  do  not  know 
what  you  are  talking  about.  Not  Honore,  ha,  ha ! 
A  man  who,  upon  his  own  avowal,  is  guilty  of 
affiliating  with  the  Yankees.  A  man  whom  we 
have  good  reason  to  suspect  of  meditating  his 
family's  dishonor  and  embarrassment !  "  Some- 
body saw  the  apothecary  and  laid  a  cautionary  touch 
on  Valentine's  arm,  but  he  brushed  it  off".  "  As  for 
Professor  Frowenfeld,  he  must  defend  himself." 

"  Ha-a-a-ah  !  "  —  a  general  cry  of  derision  from 
the  listeners. 

"  Defend  himself!  "  exclaimed  their  spokesman  ; 
"  shall  I  tell  you  again  what  he  is  ?  "  In  his  vehe- 
mence, the  speaker  wagged  his  chin  and  held  his 
clenched  fists  stiffly  toward  the  floor.  "  He  is  —  he 
is  —  he  is " 

He  paused,  breathing  like  a  fighting  dog. 
Frowenfeld,  large,  white,  and  immovable,  stood 
close  before  him. 

"  Dey  'ad  no  bizniz  led  'im  come  oud  to-day," 
said  a  bystander,  edging  toward  a  pillar. 


Frowenfeld  finds  Sylvestre  349 

The  Creole,  a  small  young  man  not  unknown  to 
us,  glared  upon  the  apothecary  ;  but  Frowenfeld 
was  far  above  his  blushing  mood,  and  was  not  dis- 
concerted. This  exasperated  the  Creole  beyond 
bound  ;  he  made  a  sudden,  angry  change  of  atti- 
tude, and   demanded  : 

"  Do  you  interrup'  two  gen'lemen  in  dey  con- 
ve'sition,  you  Yankee  clown  ?  Do  vou  igno'  dad 
you  'ave  insult  me,  off-scow'ing  ?  " 

Frowenfeld's  first  response  was  a  stern  gaze. 
When  he  spoke,  he  said  : 

"  Sir,  I  am  not  aware  that  I  have  ever  offered 
you  the  slightest  injury  or  affront ;  if  you  wish  to 
finish  your  conversation  with  this  gentleman,  I  will 
wait  till  you  are  through." 

The  Creole  bowed,  as  a  knight  who  takes  up  the 
gage.      He  turned  to  Valentine. 

"  Valentine,  I  was  sayin'  to  you  dad  diz  pusson 
is  a  cowa'd  and  a  sneak  ;  I  repead  thad  !  I  repead 
id  !     I  spurn  you  !     Go  Pom  yeh  !  " 

The  apothecary  stood  like  a  cliff. 

It  was  too  much  for  Creole  forbearance.  His 
adversary,  with  a  long  snarl  of  oaths,  sprang  for- 
ward and  with  a  great  sweep  of  his  arm  slapped  the 
apothecary  on  the  cheek.     And  then  — 

What  a  silence  ! 

Frowenfeld  had  advanced  one  step ;  his  oppo- 
nent stood  half  turned  away,  but  with  his  face 
toward  the  face  he  had  just  struck  and  his  eyes 
glaring  up  into  the  eyes  of  the  apothecary.  The 
semicircle  was   dissolved,    and   each    man   stood   in 


35° 


The  Grandissimes 


neutral  isolation,  motionless  and  silent.  For  one 
instant  objects  lost  all  natural  proportion,  and  to 
the  expectant  on-lookers  the  largest  thing  in  the 
room  was  the  big,  upraised,  white  fist  of  Frowen- 
feld.  But  in  the  next  —  how  was  this?  Could  it 
be  that  that  fist  had  not  descended  ? 

The  imperturbable  Valentine,  with  one  preventing 
arm  laid  across  the  breast  of  the  expected  victim 
and  an  open  hand  held  restrainingly  up  for  truce, 
stood  between  the  two  men  and  said  : 

"  Professor  Frowenfeld  —  one  moment " 

Frowenfeld's  face  was  ashen. 

"  Don't  speak,  sir  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  If  I  at- 
tempt to  parley  I  shall  break  every  bone  in  his 
body.  Don't  speak  !  I  can  guess  your  explana- 
tion—  he  is  drunk.     But  take  him  away." 

Valentine,  as  sensible  as  cool,  assisted  by  the 
kinsman  who  had  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm,  shuffled 
his  enraged  companion  out.  Frowenfeld's  still 
swelling  anger  was  so  near  getting  the  better  of  him 
that  he  unconsciously  followed  a  quick  step  or  two  ; 
but  as  Valentine  looked  back  and  waved  him  to 
stop,  he  again  stood  still. 

"  Proffesseur  —  you  know,  —  "  said  a  stranger, 
"  daz  Sylvestre  Grandissime." 

Frowenfeld  rather  spoke  to  himself  than  answered  : 

"If  I  had  not  known  that,  I  should  have " 

He  checked  himself  and  left  the  place. 

While  the  apothecary  was  gathering  these  experi- 
ences, the  free  spirit  of  Raoul  Innerarity  was  chafing 


Frowenfeld  finds  Sylvestre  351 

in  the  shop  like  an  eagle  in  a  hen-coop.  One 
moment  after  another  brought  him  straggling  evi- 
dences, now  of  one  sort,  now  of  another,  of  the 
"  never  more  peaceable "  state  of  affairs  without. 
If  only  some  pretext  could  be  conjured  up,  plausible 
or  flimsy,  no  matter  ;  if  only  some  man  would  pass 
with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  were  it  only  a  blow- 
gun  ;  or  if  his  employer  were  any  one  but  his  be- 
loved Frowenfeld,  he  would  clap  up  the  shutters  as 
quickly  as  he  had  already  done  once  to-day,  and  be 
off  to  the  wars.  He  was  just  trying  to  hear  imag- 
inary pistol-shots  down  toward  the  Place  d'Armes, 
when  the  apothecary  returned. 

"  D'  you  fin*  him  ?  " 

"  I  found  Sylvestre." 

"  'E  took  de  lett'  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  offer  it."  Frowenfeld,  in  a  few  com- 
pact sentences,  told  his  adventure. 

Raoul  was  ablaze  with  indignation. 

"  'Sieur  FrowenfeP,  gimmy  dat  lett'  !  "  He  ex- 
tended his  pretty  hand. 

Frowenfeld  pondered. 

"  Gimmy  'er  !  "  persisted  the  artist ;  "  befo'  I  lose 
de  sight  from  dat  lett'  she  goin'  to  be  hanswer  by 
Sylvestre  Grandissime,  an'  'e  goin'  to  wrat  you  one 
appo-logie  !     Oh  !    I  goin'  mek  'im  crah  fo'  shem  !  " 

"  If  I  could  know  you  would  do  only  as  I " 

"  I  do  it !  "  cried  Raoul,  and  sprang  for  his  hat ; 
and  in  the  end  Frowenfeld  let  him  have  his  way. 

"I  had  intended  seeing  him "the  apothe- 
cary said. 


352 


The  Grandissimes 


"  Nevvamine  to  see ;  I  goin'  tell  him  ! "  cried 
Raoul,  as  he  crowded  his  hat  fiercely  down  over  his 
curls  and  plunged  out. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

TO    COME    TO    THE    POINT 

It  was  equally  a  part  of  Honore  Grandissime's 
nature  and  of  his  art  as  a  merchant  to  wear  a  look 
of  serene  leisure.  With  this  look  on  his  face  he 
reentered  his  counting-room  after  his  morning  visit 
to  Frowenfeld's  shop.  He  paused  a  moment  out- 
side the  rail,  gave  the  weak-eyed  gentleman  who 
presided  there  a  quiet  glance  equivalent  to  a  beckon, 
and,  as  that  person  came  near,  communicated  two 
or  three  items  of  intelligence  or  instruction  concern- 
ing office  details,  by  which  that  invaluable  diviner 
of  business  meanings  understood  that  he  wished  to 
be  let  alone  for  an  hour.  Then  M.  Grandissime 
passed  on  into  his  private  office,  and,  shutting  the 
door  behind  him,  walked  briskly  to  his  desk  and 
sat  down. 

He  dropped  his  elbows  upon  a  broad  paper  con- 
taining some  recently  written,  unfinished  memoranda 
that  included  figures  in  column,  cast  his  eyes  quite 
around  the  apartment,  and  then  covered  his  face 
with  his  palms  —  a  gesture  common  enough  for  a 
tired  man  of  business  in  a  moment  of  seclusion  ;  but 
just  as  the  face  disappeared  in   the  hands,  the  look 


To  come  to  the  Point  353 

of  serene  leisure  gave  place  to  one  of  great  mental 
distress.  The  paper  under  his  elbows,  to  the  con- 
sideration of  which  he  seemed  about  to  return,  was 
in  the  handwriting  of  his  manager,  with  additions  by 
his  own  pen.  Earlier  in  the  day  he  had  come  to  a 
pause  in  the  making  of  these  additions,  and,  after 
one  or  two  vain  efforts  to  proceed,  had  laid  down 
his  pen,  taken  his  hat,  and  gone  to  see  the  unlucky 
apothecary.  Now  he  took  up  the  broken  thread. 
To  come  to  a  decision ;  that  was  the  task  which 
forced  from  him  his  look  of  distress.  He  drew 
his  face  slowly  through  his  palms,  set  his  lips,  cast 
up  his  eyes,  knit  his  knuckles,  and  then  opened  and 
struck  his  palms  together,  as  if  to  say :  "  Now, 
come;  let  me  make  up  my  mind." 

There  may  be  men  who  take  every  moral  height 
at  a  dash  ;  but  to  the  most  of  us  there  must  come 
moments  when  our  wills  can  but  just  rise  and  walk 
in  their  sleep.  Those  who  in  such  moments  wait 
for  clear  views  find,  when  the  issue  is  past,  that 
they  were  only  yielding  to  the  devil's  chloroform. 

Honore  Grandissme  bent  his  eyes  upon  the 
paper.  But  he  saw  neither  its  figures  nor  its  words. 
The  interrogation,  "  Surrender  Fausse  Riviere  ?  " 
appeared  to  hang  between  his  eyes  and  the  paper, 
and  when  his  resolution  tried  to  answer  "  Yes,"  he 
saw  red  flags  ;  he  heard  the  auctioneer's  drum  ;  he 
saw  his  kinsmen  handing  house-keys  to  strangers ; 
he  saw  the  old  servants  of  the  great  family  standing 
in  the  marketplace ;  he  saw  kinswomen  pawning 
their  plate;  he  saw  his  clerks  (Brahmins,  Man- 
23 


354 


The  Grandissimes 


darins,  Grandissimes)  standing  idle  and  shabby  in 
the  arcade  of  the  Cabildo  and  on  the  banquettes  of 
Maspero's  and  the  Veau-qui-tete ;  he  saw  red-eyed 
young  men  in  the  Exchange  denouncing  a  man 
who,  they  said,  had,  ostensibly  for  conscience's  sake, 
but  really  for  love,  forced  upon  the  woman  he  had 
hoped  to  marry  a  fortune  filched  from  his  own  kin- 
dred. He  saw  the  junto  of  doctors  in  Frowenfeld's 
door  charitably  deciding  him  insane ;  he  saw  the 
more  vengeful  of  his  family  seeking  him  with  half- 
concealed  weapons;  he  saw  himself  shot  at  in  the 
rue  Royale,  in  the  rue  Toulouse,  and  in  the  Place 
d'Armes  :   and,  worst  of  all,  missed. 

But  he  wiped   his   forehead,  and   the  writing  on 
the  paper  became,  in  a  measure,  visible.     He  read  : 

Total  mortgages  on  the  lands  of  all  the  Grandissimes     .  $ — 

Total  present  value  of  same,  titles  at  buyers'  risk     .     .  — 

Cash,  goods,  and  accounts — 

Fausse  Riviere  Plantation  account — 


There  were  other  items,  but  he  took  up  the  edge 
of  the  paper  mechanically,  pushed  it  slowly  away 
from  him,  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  again  laid 
his  hands  upon  his  face. 

"  Suppose  I  retain  Fausse  Riviere,"  he  said  to 
himself,  as  if  he  had  not  said  it  many  times  before. 

Then  he  saw  memoranda  that  were  not  on  any 
paper  before  him  —  such  a  mortgage  to  be  met  on 
such  a  date  ;  so  much  from  Fausse  Riviere  Planta- 
tion account  retained  to  protect  that  mortgage  from 
foreclosure  ;  such  another  to  be  met  on  such  a  date 


To  come  to  the  Point  355 

—  so  much  more  of  same  account  to  protect  it. 
He  saw  Aurora  and  Clotilde  Nancanou,  with  an- 
guished faces,  offering  woman's  pleadings  to  deaf 
constables.  He  saw  the  remainder  of  Aurora's 
plantation  account  thrown  to  the  lawyers  to  keep 
the  question  of  the  Grandissime  titles  languishing  in 
the  courts.  He  saw  the  fortunes  of  his  clan  rallied 
meanwhile  and  coming  to  the  rescue,  himself  and  kin- 
dred growing  independent  of  questionable  titles, 
and  even  Fausse  Riviere  Plantation  account  re- 
stored, but  Aurora  and  Clotilde  nowhere  to  be 
found.  And  then  he  saw  the  grave,  pale  face  of 
Joseph  Frowenfeld. 

He  threw  himself  forward,  drew  the  paper  ner- 
vously toward  him,  and  stared  at  the  figures.  He 
began  at  the  first  item  and  went  over  the  whole 
paper,  line  by  line,  testing  every  extension,  proving 
every  addition,  noting  if  possibly  any  transposition 
of  figures  had  been  made  and  overlooked,  if  some- 
thing was  added  that  should  have  been  subtracted, 
or  subtracted  that  should  have  been  added.  It  was 
like  a  prisoner  trying  the  bars  of  his  cell. 

Was  there  no  way  to  make  things  happen  differ- 
ently ?  Had  he  not  overlooked  some  expedient  ? 
Was  not  some  financial  manoeuvre  possible  which 
might  compass  both  desired  ends  ?  He  left  his 
chair  and  walked  up  and  down,  as  Joseph  at  that 
very  moment  was  doing  in  the  room  where  he  had 
left  him,  came  back,  looked  at  the  paper,  and  again 
walked  up  and  down.  He  murmured  now  and 
then  to  himself:  "^//"-denial — that  is  not  the  hard 


356  The  Grandissimes 

work.  Penniless  myself — that  is  play,"  and  so  on. 
He  turned  by  and  by  and  stood  looking  up  at  that 
picture  of  the  man  in  the  cuirass  which  Aurora  had 
once  noticed.  He  looked  at  it,  but  he  did  not  see 
it.  He  was  thinking  —  "Her  rent  is  due  to- 
morrow. She  will  never  believe  I  am  not  her 
landlord.  She  will  never  go  to  my  half-brother." 
He  turned  once  more  and  mentally  beat  his  breast 
as  he  muttered  :  "  Why  do  I  not  decide  ?  " 

Somebody  touched  the  door-knob.  Honore 
stepped  forward  and  opened  it.    It  was  a  mortgager. 

"Ah  !  entrez,  Monsieur." 

He  retained  the  visitor's  hand,  leading  him  in 
and  talking  pleasantly  in  French  until  both  had 
found  chairs.  The  conversation  continued  in  that 
tongue  through  such  pointless  commercial  gossip 
as  this  : 

"So  the  brig  Equinox  is  aground  at  the  head  of 
the  Passes,"  said  M.  Grandissime. 

"  I  have  just  heard  she  is  off  again." 

"  Aha  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  the  Fort  Plaquemine  canoe  is  just  up 
from  below.  I  understand  John  McDonough  has 
bought  the  entire  cargo  of  the  schooner  Freedom." 

"No,  not  all;  Blanque  et  Fils  bought  some 
twenty  boys  and  women  out  of  the  lot.  Where  is 
she   lying?" 

"  Right  at  the  head  of  the  Basin." 

And  much  more  like  this  ;  but  by  and  by  the 
mortgager  came  to  the  point  with  the  casual 
remark : 


To  come  to  the  Point  357 

"  The  excitement  concerning  land  titles  seems  to 
increase  rather  than  subside." 

"  They  must  have  something  to  be  excited  about, 
I  suppose,"  said  M.  Grandissime,  crossing  his  legs 
and  smiling.      It  was  tradesman's  talk. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  other  ;  "  there  seems  to  be 
an  idea  current  to-day  that  all  holders  under 
Spanish  titles  are  to  be  immediately  dispossessed, 
without  even  process  of  court.  I  believe  a  very 
slight  indiscretion  on  the  part  of  the  Governor- 
General  would  precipitate  a  riot." 

"  He  will  not  commit  any,"  said  M.  Grandissime 
with  a  quiet  gravity,  changing  his  manner  to  that 
of  one  who  draws  upon  a  reserve  of  private  in- 
formation.    "  There  will   be  no  outbreak." 

"  I  suppose  not.  We  do  not  know,  really,  that 
the  American  Congress  will  throw  any  question 
upon  titles;  but  still " 

"  What  are  some  of  the  shrewdest  Americans 
among  us  doing  ?  "  asked   M.   Grandissime. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  mortgager,  "it  is  true  they 
are  buying  these  very  titles ;  but  they  may  be 
making  a  mistake  ?  " 

Unfortunately  for  the  speaker,  he  allowed  his 
face  an  expression  of  argumentative  shrewdness  as 
he  completed  this  sentence,  and  M.  Grandissime, 
the  merchant,  caught  an  instantaneous  full  view  of 
his  motive ;  he  wanted  to  buv.  He  was  a  man 
whose  known  speculative  policy  was  to  "  go  in  "  in 
moments  of  panic. 

M.  Grandissime  was  again  face  to  face  with  the 


358  The  Grandissimes 

question  of  the  morning.  To  commence  selling 
must  be  to  go  on  selling.  This,  as  a  plan,  included 
restitution  to  Aurora ;  but  it  meant  also  dissolution 
to  the  Grandissimes,  for  should  their  sold  titles  be 
pronounced  bad,  then  the  titles  of  other  lands 
would  be  bad ;  many  an  asset  among  M.  Gran- 
dissime's  memoranda  would  shrink  into  nothing, 
and  the  meagre  proceeds  of  the  Grandissime  estates, 
left  to  meet  the  strain  without  the  aid  of  Aurora's 
accumulated  fortune,  would  founder  in  a  sea  of 
liabilities ;  while  should  these  titles,  after  being 
parted  with,  turn  out  good,  his  incensed  kindred, 
shutting  their  eyes  to  his  memoranda  and  despising 
his  exhibits,  would  see  in  him  only  the  family 
traitor,  and  he  would  go  about  the  streets  of  his 
town  the  subject  of  their  implacable  denunciation, 
the  community's  obloquy,  and  Aurora's  cold  eva- 
sion. So  much,  should  he  sell.  On  the  other 
hand,  to  decline  to  sell  was  to  enter  upon  that 
disingenuous  scheme  of  delays  which  would  enable 
him  to  avail  himself  and  his  people  of  that  favor- 
able wind  and  tide  of  fortune  which  the  Cession 
had  brought.  Thus  the  estates  would  be  lost,  if 
lost  at  all,  only  when  the  family  could  afford  to 
lose  them,  and  Honore  Grandissime  would  con- 
tinue to  be  Honore  the  Magnificent,  the  admira- 
tion of  the  city  and  the  idol  of  his  clan.  But 
Aurora  —  and  Clotilde  —  would  have  to  eat  the 
crust  of  poverty,  while  their  fortunes,  even  in  his 
hands,  must  bear  all  the  jeopardy  of  the  scheme. 
That  was  all.      Retain  Fausse  Riviere  and  its  wealth, 


To  come  to  the  Point  359 

and  save  the  Grandissimes  ;  surrender  Fausse  Ri- 
viere, let  the  Grandissime  estates  go,  and  save  the 
Nancanous.     That  was  the  whole  dilemma. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  M.  Grandissime.  "You 
have  a  mortgage  on  one  of  our  Golden  Coast  plan- 
tations. Well,  to  be  frank,  with  you,  I  was  think- 
ing of  that  when  you  came  in.  You  know  I  am 
partial  to  prompt  transactions  —  I  thought  of 
offering  you  either  to  take  up  that  mortgage  or  to 
sell  you  the  plantation,  as  you  may  prefer.  I 
have  ventured  to  guess  that  it  would  suit  you  to 
own  it." 

And  the  speaker  felt  within  him  a  secret  exul- 
tation in  the  idea  that  he  had  succeeded  in  throwing 
the  issue  off  upon  a  Providence  that  could  control 
this  mortgager's  choice. 

"  I  would  prefer  to  leave  that  choice  with  you," 
said  the  coy  would-be  purchaser ;  and  then  the  two 
went  coquetting  again  for  another  moment. 

"  I  understand  that  Nicholas  Girod  is  proposing 
to  erect  a  four-story  brick  building  on  the  corner 
of  Royale  and  St.  Pierre.  Do  you  think  it  prac- 
ticable ?  Do  you  think  our  soil  will  support  such 
a  structure  ?  " 

"  Pitot  thinks  it  will.  Bore  says  it  is  perfectly 
feasible." 

So  they  dallied. 

"  Well,"  said  the  mortgager,  presently  rising, 
"  you  will  make  up  your  mind  and  let  me  know, 
will  you  r  " 

The  chance  repetition  of  those  words  "  make  up 


360  The  Grandissimes 

your  mind "  touched  Honore  Grandissime  like  a 
hot  iron.      He  rose  with  the  visitor. 

"  Well,  sir,  what  would  you  give  us  for  our  title 
in  case  we  should  decide  to  part  with  it  ?" 

The  two  men  moved  slowly,  side  by  side,  toward 
the  door,  and  in  the  half-open  doorway,  after  a  little 
further  trifling,  the  title  was  sold. 

"  Well,  good-day,"  said  M.  Grandissime.  "  M. 
de  Brahmin  will  arrange  the  papers  for  us  to- 
morrow." 

He  turned  back  toward  his  private  desk. 

"  And  now,"  thought  he,  "  I  am  acting  without 
resolving.  No  merit ;  no  strength  of  will ;  no 
clearness  of  purpose  ;  no  emphatic  decision  ;  noth- 
ing but  a  yielding  to  temptation." 

And  M.  Grandissime  spoke  truly  ;  but  it  is  only 
whole  men  who  so  yield  —  yielding  to  the  temp- 
tation to  do  right. 

He  passed  into  the  counting-room,  to  M.  De 
Brahmin,  and  standing  there  talked  in  an  inaudible 
tone,  leaning  over  the  upturned  spectacles  of  his 
manager,  for  nearly  an  hour.  Then,  saying  he 
would  go  to  dinner,  he  went  out.  He  did  not  dine 
at  home  nor  at  the  Veau-qui-tete,  nor  at  any  of  the 
clubs  ;  so  much  is  known  ;  he  merely  disappeared 
for  two  or  three  hours  and  was  not  seen  again  until 
late  in  the  afternoon,  when  two  or  three  Brahmins 
and  Grandissimes,  wandering  about  in  search  of 
him,  met  him  on  the  levee  near  the  head  of  the  rue 
Bienville,  and  with  an  exclamation  of  wonder  and 
a  look  of  surprise  at  his  dusty  shoes,  demanded  to 


An  Inheritance  of  Wrong  361 

know  where  he  had  hid  himself  while  they  had 
been   ransacking  the   town  in  search  of  him. 

"  We  want  you  to  tell  us  what  you  will  do  about 
our  titles." 

He  smiled  pleasantly,  the  picture  of  serenity, 
and  replied  : 

"  I  have  not  fully  made  up  my  mind  yet ;  as 
soon  as  I  do  so  I  will  let  you  know." 

There  was  a  word  or  two  more  exchanged,  and 
then,  after  a  moment  of  silence,  with  a  gentle  "  Eh, 
bien,"  and  a  gesture  to  which  they  were  accus- 
tomed, he  stepped  away  backward,  they  resumed 
their  hurried  walk  and  talk,  and  he  turned  into  the 
rue  Bienville. 


CHAPTER  XEII 

AN     INHERITANCE    OF    WRONG 

"  I  tell  you,"  Doctor  Keene  used  to  say,  "  that 
old  woman  's  a  thinker."  His  allusion  was  to  Clem- 
ence,  the  marchande  des  calas.  Her  mental  activity 
was  evinced  not  more  in  the  cunning  aptness  of  her 
songs  than  in  the  droll  wisdom  of  her  sayings.  Not 
the  melody  only,  but  the  often  audacious,  epigram- 
matic philosophy  of  her  tongue  as  well,  sold  her 
calas  and  gingercakes. 

But  in  one  direction  her  wisdom  proved  scant. 
She  presumed  too  much  on  her  insignificance.  She 
was  a  "  study,"  the  gossiping  circle  at  Frowenfeld's 
used  to  sav ;    and   anv  observant  hearer  of  her  odd 


362  The  Grandissimes 

aphorisms  could  see  that  she  herself  had  made  a 
life-study  of  herself  and  her  conditions;  but  she 
little  thought  that  others — some  with  wits  and 
some  with  none  —  young  hare-brained  Grandis- 
simes, Mandarins  and  the  like —  were  silently,  and 
for  her  most  unluckily,  charging  their  memories 
with  her  knowing  speeches ;  and  that  of  every  one 
of  those  speeches  she  would  ultimately  have  to  give 
account. 

Doctor  Keene,  in  the  old  days  of  his  health,  used 
to  enjoy  an  occasional  skirmish  with  her.  Once,  in 
the  course  of  chaffering  over  the  price  of  ca/as,  he 
enounced  an  old  current  conviction  which  is  not 
without  holders  even  to  this  day  ;  for  we  may  still 
hear  it  said  by  those  who  will  not  be  decoyed  down 
from  the  mountain  fastnesses  of  the  old  Southern 
doctrines,  that  their  slaves  were  "  the  happiest 
people  under  the  sun."  Clemence  had  made  bold 
to  deny  this  with  argumentative  indignation,  and 
was  courteously  informed  in  retort  that  she  had 
promulgated  a  falsehood  of  magnitude. 

"  W'y,  Mawse  Chawlie,"  she  replied,  "  does  you 
s'pose  one  po'  nigga  kin  tell  a  big  lie  ?  No,  sah  ! 
But  w'en  de  whole  people  tell  w'at  am*  so  —  if  dey 
know  it,  aw  if  dey  don'  know  it  —  den  dat  is  a  big 
lie  !  "     And  she  laughed  to  contortion. 

"  What  is  that  you  say  ? "  he  demanded,  with 
mock  ferocity.  "  You  charge  white  people  with 
lying?" 

"  Oh,  sakes,  Mawse  Chawlie,  no !  De  people 
don't  mek  up  dat  ah  ;   de  debble  pass  it  on  'em. 


An  Inheritance  of  Wrong  363 

Don'  you  know  de  debble  ah  de  grett  cyount'- 
feiteh  ?  Ev'y  piece  o'  money  he  mek  he  tek  an' 
put  some  debblemen'  on  de  under  side,  an'  one  o' 
his  pootiess  lies  on  top ;  an'  'e  gilt  dat  lie,  and  'e 
rub  dat  lie  on  'is  elbow,  an'  'e  shine  dat  lie,  an'  'e 
put  'is  bess  licks  on  dat  lie ;  entel  ev'ybody  say  : 
'  Oh,  how  pooty  !'  An'  dey  tek  it  fo'  good  money, 
yass  —  and  pass  it !      Dey  b'lieb  it !  " 

"  Oh,"  said  some  one  at  Doctor  Keene's  side, 
disposed  to  quiz,  "  you  niggers  don't  know  when 
you  are  happy." 

"  Dass  so,  Mawse  —  c  est  vrai,  oui !  "  she  an- 
swered quickly  :  "we  donno  no  mo'n  white  folks!" 

The  laugh  was  against  him. 

"  Mawse  Chawlie,"  she  said  again,  "  w'a's  dis  I 
yeh  'bout  dat  Eu'ope  country  ?  's  dat  true  de 
niggas  is  all  free  in    Eu'ope  ! " 

Doctor  Keene  replied  that  something  like  that 
was  true. 

"  Well,  now,  Mawse  Chawlie,  I  gwan  t'  ass  you 
a  riddle.  If  dat  is  so,  den  fo'  w'y  I  yeh  folks 
bragg'n  'bout  de  'stayt  o'  s'iety  in  Eu'ope '  ? " 

The  mincing  drollery  with  which  she  used  this 
fine  phrase  brought  another  peal  of  laughter.  No- 
body tried  to  guess. 

"  I  gwan  tell  you,"  said  the  marchande  ;  "  't  is 
becyaze  dey  got  a  '  fixed  wuckin'  class.'  "  She 
sputtered  and  giggled  with  the  general  ha,  ha. 
"  Oh,  ole  Clemence  kin  talk  proctah,  yass  !  " 

She  made  a  gesture  for  attention. 

"  D'  y'  ebber  yeh  w'at  de  cya'ge-hoss  say  w'en  'e 


364  The  Grandissimes 

see  de  cyaht-hoss  tu'n  loose  in  de  sem  pawstu'e  wid 
he,  an'  knowed  dat  some'ow  de  cyaht  gotteh  be 
haul'  ?  W'y  'e  jiz  snawt  an'  kick  up  'is  heel'  "  — 
she  suited  the  action  to  the  word  —  "an'  tah'  roun' 
de  fiel'  an'  prance  up  to  de  fence  an*  say:  'Whoopy ! 
shoo  !  shoo  !  dis  yeh  country  gittin'  too  free  ! '  " 

"  Oh,"  she  resumed,  as  soon  as  she  could  be 
heard,  "  white  folks  is  werry  kine.  Dey  wants  us 
to  b'lieb  we  happy  —  dey  wants  to  b'lieb  we  is.  W'y, 
you  know,  dey  'bleeged  to  b'lieb  it  —  fo'  dey  own 
cyumfut.  'T  is  de  sem  weh  wid  de  preache's  ;  dey 
buil'  we  ow  own  sep'ate  meet'n-houses ;  dey  b'liebs 
us  lak  it  de  bess,  an'  dey  knows  dey  lak  it  de  bess." 

The  laugh  at  this  was  mostly  her  own.  It  is 
not  a  laughable  sight  to  see  the  comfortable  frac- 
tions of  Christian  communities  everywhere  striving, 
with  sincere,  pious,  well-meant,  criminal  benevo- 
lence, to  make  their  poor  brethren  contented  with 
the  ditch.  Nor  does  it  become  so  to  see  these 
efforts  meet,  or  seem  to  meet,  some  degree  of 
success.  Happily  man  cannot  so  place  his  brother 
that  his  misery  will  continue  unmitigated.  You 
may  dwarf  a  man  to  the  mere  stump  of  what  he 
ought  to  be,  and  yet  he  will  put  out  green  leaves. 
"  Free  from  care,"  we  benignly  observe  of  the 
dwarfed  classes  of  society  ;  but  we  forget,  or  have 
never  thought,  what  a  crime  we  commit  when  we 
rob  men  and  women  of  their  cares. 

To  Clemence  the  order  of  society  was  nothing. 
No  upheaval  could  reach  to  the  depth  to  which  she 
was  sunk.      It  is  true,  she  was  one  of  the  popula- 


An  Inheritance  of  Wrong  365 

tion.  She  had  certain  affections  toward  people  and 
places  ;   but  they  were  not  of  a  consuming  sort. 

As  for  us,  our  feelings,  our  sentiments,  affections, 
etc.,  are  fine  and  keen,  delicate  and  many ;  what  we 
call  refined.  Why  ?  Because  we  get  them  as  we 
get  our  old  swords  and  gems  and  laces  —  from  our 
grandsires,  mothers,  and  all.  Refined  they  are  — 
after  centuries  of  refining.  But  the  feelings  handed 
down  to  Clemence  had  come  through  ages  of  Afri- 
can savagery ;  through  fires  that  do  not  refine,  but 
that  blunt  and  blast  and  blacken  and  char;  starva- 
tion, gluttony,  drunkenness,  thirst,  drowning,  naked- 
ness, dirt,  fetichism,  debauchery,  slaughter,  pestilence 
and  the  rest  —  she  was  their  heiress;  they  left  her 
the  cinders  of  human  feelings.  She  remembered 
her  mother.  They  had  been  separated  in  her 
childhood,  in  Virginia  when  it  was  a  province. 
She  remembered,  with  pride,  the  price  her  mother 
had  brought  at  auction,  and  remarked,  as  an  addi- 
tional interesting  item,  that  she  had  never  seen  or 
heard  of  her  since.  She  had  had  children,  assorted 
colors  —  had  one  with  her  now,  the  black  boy  that 
brought  the  basil  to  Joseph;  the  others  were  here 
and  there,  some  in  the  Grandissime  households  or 
field-gangs,  some  elsewhere  within  occasional  sight, 
some  dead,  some  not  accounted  for.  Husbands  — 
like  the  Samaritan  woman's.  We  know  she  was  a 
constant  singer  and  laugher. 

And  so  on  that  day,  when  Honore  Grandissime 
had  advised  the  Governor-General  of  Louisiana  to 
be  verv  careful  to  avoid  demonstration  of  anv  sort 


366  The  Grandissimes 

if  he  wished  to  avert  a  street  war  in  his  little  capi- 
tal, Clemence  went  up  one  street  and  down  another, 
singing  her  song  and  laughing  her  professional 
merry  laugh.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  Let 
events  take  any  possible  turn,  how  could  it  make 
any  difference  to  Clemence  ?  What  could  she 
hope  to  gain  ?  What  could  she  fear  to  lose  ?  She 
sold  some  of  her  goods  to  Casa  Calvo's  Spanish 
guard  and  sang  them  a  Spanish  song ;  some  to 
Claiborne's  soldiers  and  sang  them  Yankee  Doodle 
with  unclean  words  of  her  own  inspiration,  which 
evoked  true  soldiers'  laughter  ;  some  to  a  priest  at 
his  window,  exchanging  with  him  a  pious  comment 
or  two  upon  the  wickedness  of  the  times  generally 
and  their  Americain  Protestant-poisoned  commu- 
nity in  particular;  and  (after  going  home  to  dinner 
and  coming  out  newly  furnished)  she  sold  some 
more  of  her  wares  to  the  excited  groups  of  Creoles 
to  which  we  have  had  occasion  to  allude,  and  from 
whom,  insensible  as  she  was  to  ribaldry,  she  was 
glad  to  escape.  The  day  now  drawing  to  a  close, 
she  turned  her  steps  toward  her  wonted  crouching- 
place,  the  willow  avenue  on  the  levee,  near  the 
Place  d'Armes.  But  she  had  hardly,  denned  this 
decision  clearly  in  her  mind,  and  had  but  just 
turned  out  of  the  rue  St.  Louis,  when  her  song 
attracted  an  ear  in  a  second-story  room  under 
whose  window  she  was  passing.  As  usual,  it  was 
fitted  to  the  passing  event : 

"  Apportez  moi  mo"  sabre, 

Ba  bourn,  ba  bourn,  bourn,  bourn." 


An  Inheritance  of  Wrong  367 

"  Run,  fetch  that  girl  here,"  said  Dr.  Keene  to 
the  slave  woman  who  had  just  entered  his  room 
with  a  pitcher  of  water. 

"  Well,  old  eavesdropper,"  he  said,  as  Clemence 
came,  "  what  is  the  scandal  to-day  ?  " 

Clemence  laughed. 

"You  know,  Mawse  Chawlie,  I  dunno  noth'n' 
'tall  'bout  nobody.  I  'se  a  nigga  w'at  mine  my  own 
business." 

"  Sit  down  there  on  that  stool,  and  tell  me  what 
is  going  on  outside." 

"  I  d'  no  noth'n'  'bout  no  goin's  on ;  got  no 
time  fo'  sit  down,  me ;  got  sell  my  cakes.  I 
don't  goin'  git  mix'  in  wid  no  white  folks's 
doin's." 

"  Hush,  you  old  hypocrite ;  I  will  buy  all  your 
cakes.      Put  them  out  there  on  the  table." 

The  invalid,  sitting  up  in  bed,  drew  a  purse  from 
behind  his  pillow  and  tossed  her  a  large  price.  She 
tittered,  courtesied  and  received  the  money. 

"Well,  well,  Mawse  Chawlie,  'f  you  ain'  de  fun- 
ni'st  gen'leman  I  knows,  to  be  sho  !  " 

"  Have  you  seen  Joseph  Frowenfeld  to-day  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  He,  he,  he !  W'at  I  got  do  wid  Mawse 
Frowenfel*  ?  I  goes  on  de  off  side  o'  sich  folks  — 
folks  w'at  cann'  'have  deyself  no  bette'n  dat  —  he, 
he,  he  !  At  de  same  time  I  did  happen,  jis  chancin' 
by  accident,  to  see  'im." 

"  How  is  he  ? " 

Dr.  Keene  made  plain  by  his  manner  that  any 


368  The  Grandissimes 

sensational  account  would  receive  his  instantaneous 
contempt,  and  she  answered  within  bounds. 

"  Well,  now,  tellin'  the  simple  trufe,  he  ain'  much 
hurt." 

The  doctor  turned  slowly  and  cautiously  in 
bed. 

"  Have  you  seen  Honore  Grandissime?  " 

"  W'y  —  das  funny  you  ass  me  dat.  I  jis  now 
see  'im  dis  werry  minnit." 

"  Where  ? " 

"  Jis  gwine  into  de  house  wah  dat  laydy  live  w'at 
'e  runned  over  dat  ah  time." 

"  Now,  you  old  hag,"  cried  the  sick  man,  his 
weak,  husky  voice  trembling  with  passion,  "  you 
know  you  're  telling  me  a  lie." 

"  No,  Mawse  Chawlie,"  she  protested  with  a 
coward's  frown,  "  I  swah  I  tellin'  you  de  God's 
trufe ! " 

"  Hand  me  my  clothes  off  that  chair." 

"Oh!   but,  Mawse  Chawlie " 

The  little  doctor  cursed  her.  She  did  as  she  was 
bid,  and  made  as  if  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Don't  you  go  away." 

"  But  Mawse  Chawlie,  you'  undress'  —  he, 
he!" 

She  was  really  abashed  and  half  frightened. 

"  I  know  that ;  and  you  have  got  to  help  me  put 
my  clothes  on." 

"You  gwan  kill  yo'se'f,  Mawse  Chawlie,"  she 
said,  handling  a  garment. 

"  Hold  your  black  tongue." 


The  Eagle  visits  the  Doves  369 

She  dressed  him  hastily,  and  he  went  down  the 
stairs  of  his  lodging-house  and  out  into  the  street. 
Clemence  went  in  search  of  her  master. 


CHAPTER   XLIII 

THE    EAGLE    VISITS    THE     DOVES    IN    THEIR    NEST 

Alphonsina  —  only  living  property  of  Aurora 
and  Clotilde  —  was  called  upon  to  light  a  fire  in  the 
little  parlor.  Elsewhere,  although  the  day  was  de- 
clining, few  persons  felt  such  a  need ;  but  in  No. 
19  rue  Bienville  there  were  two  chilling  influences 
combined  requiring  an  artificial  offset.  One  was 
the  ground  under  the  floor,  which  was  only  three 
inches  distant,  and  permanently  saturated  with 
water  ;    the  other  was  despair. 

Before  this  fire  the  two  ladies  sat  down  together 
like  watchers,  in  that  silence  and  vacuity  of  mind 
which  come  after  an  exhaustive  struggle  ending  in 
the  recognition  of  the  inevitable ;  a  torpor  of 
thought,  a  stupefaction  of  feeling,  a  purely  negative 
state  of  joylessness  sequent  to  the  positive  state  of 
anguish.  They  were  now  both  hungry,  but  in  want 
of  some  present  friend  acquainted  with  the  motions 
of  mental  distress  who  could  guess  this  fact  and 
press  them  to  eat.  By  their  eyes  it  was  plain  they 
had  been  weeping  much  ;  by  the  subdued  tone,  too, 
of  their  short  and  infrequent  speeches. 

Alphonsina,  having  made  the  fire,  went  out  with 
24 


3  jo  The  Grandissimes 

a  bundle.  It  was  Aurora's  last  good  dress.  She 
was  going  to  try  to  sell  it. 

"  It  ought  not  to  be  so  hard,"  began  Clotilde,  in 
a  quiet  manner  of  contemplating  some  one  else's 
difficulty,  but  paused  with  the  saying  uncompleted, 
and  sighed  under  her  breath. 

"  But  it  is  so  hard,"  responded  Aurora. 

"  No,  it  ought  not  to  be  so  hard " 

"  How,  not  so  hard  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  so  hard  to  live,"  said  Clotilde ;  "  but 

it  is  hard  to  be  ladies.     You  understand "  she 

knit  her  fingers,  dropped  them  into  her  lap  and 
turned  her  eyes  toward  Aurora,  who  responded 
with  the  same  motions,  adding  the  crossing  of  her 
silk-stockinged  ankles  before  the  fire. 

"  No,"  said  Aurora,  with  a  scintillation  of  irre- 
pressible mischief  in  her  eyes. 

"  After  all,"  pursued  Clotilde,  "  what  troubles  us 
is  not  how  to  make  a  living,  but  how  to  get  a  living 
without  making  it." 

"Ah  !  that  would  be  magnificent !  "  said  Aurora, 
and  then  added,  more  soberly  ;  "  but  we  are  com- 
pelled to  make  a  living." 

"  No." 

"  No-o  ?  Ah!  what  do  you  mean  with  your 
'no'?" 

"  I  mean  it  is  just  the  contrary  ;  we  are  compelled 
not  to  make  a  living.  Look  at  me :  I  can  cook, 
but  I  must  not  cook ;  I  am  skillful  with  the  needle, 
but  I  must  not  take  in  sewing;  I  could  keep 
accounts;   I  could  nurse  the  sick;  but  I   must  not. 


The  Eagle  visits  the  Doves  371 

I  could  be  a  confectioner,  a  milliner,  a  dressmaker,  a 
vest-maker,  a  cleaner  of  gloves  and  laces,  a  dyer, 
a  bird-seller,  a  mattress-maker,  an  upholsterer,  a 
dancing-teacher,  a  florist " 

"  Oh ! "  softly  exclaimed  Aurora,  in  English, 
"you  could  be  —  you  know  w'ad  ?  —  an  egcellen' 
drug-cl'  —  ah,  ha,  ha  !  " 

"  Now " 

But  the  threatened  irruption  was  averted  by  a 
look  of  tender  apology  from  Aurora,  in  reply  to 
one  of  martyrdom  from  Clotilde. 

"  My  angel  daughter,"  said  Aurora,  "  if  society 
has  decreed  that  ladies  must  be  ladies,  then  that  is 
our  first  duty;  our  second  is  to  live.  Do  you  not 
see  why  it  is  that  this  practical  world  does  not  per- 
mit ladies  to  make  a  living  ?  Because  if  they  could, 
none  of  them  would  ever  consent  to  be  married. 
Ha!  women  talk  about  marrying  for  love;  but 
society  is  too  sharp  to  trust  them,  yet!  It  makes 
it  necessary  to  marry.  I  will  tell  you  the  honest 
truth  ;  some  days  when  I  get  very,  very  hungry, 
and  we  have  nothing  but  rice  —  all  because  we  are 
ladies  without  male  protectors  —  I  think  society 
could  drive  even  me  to  marriage  !  —  for  your  sake, 
though,  darling;  of  course,  only  for  your  sake  !  " 

"  Never  ! "  replied  Clotilde ;  "  for  my  sake, 
never;  for  your  own  sake  if  you  choose.  I  should 
not  care.  I  should  be  glad  to  see  you  do  so  if  it 
would  make  you  happy  ;  but  never  for  my  sake  and 
never  tor  hunger's  sake;  but  for  love's  sake,  yes ; 
and  God  bless  thee,  pretty  maman." 


27< 


The  Grandissimes 


"  Clotilde,  dear,"  said  the  unconscionable  widow, 
"let  me  assure  you,  once  for  all,  —  starvation  is 
preferable.  I  mean  for  me,  you  understand,  simply 
for  me ;   that  is  my  feeling  on  the  subject." 

Clotilde  turned  her  saddened  eyes  with  a  steady 
scrutiny  upon  her  deceiver,  who  gazed  upward  in 
apparently  unconscious  reverie,  and  sighed  softly  as 
she  laid  her  head  upon  the  high  chair-back  and 
stretched  out  her  feet. 

"  I  wish  Alphonsina  would  come  back,"  she  said. 
"  Ah  !  "  she  added,  hearing  a  footfall  on  the  step 
outside  the  street  door,  "  there  she  is." 

She  arose  and  drew  the  bolt.  Unseen  to  her, 
the  person  whose  footsteps  she  had  heard  stood 
upon  the  doorstep  with  a  hand  lifted  to  knock,  but 
pausing  to  "makeup  his  mind."  He  heard  the 
bolt  shoot  back,  recognized  the  nature  of  the  mis- 
take, and,  feeling  that  here  again  he  was  robbed  of 
volition,  rapped. 

"  That  is  not  Alphonsina  !  " 

The  two  ladies  looked  at  each  other  and  turned 
pale. 

"  But  you  must  open  it,"  whispered  Clotilde,  half 
rising. 

Aurora  opened  the  door,  and  changed  from  white 
to  crimson.  Clotilde  rose  up  quickly.  The  gentle- 
man lifted  his  hat. 

"  Madame  Nancanou." 

"  M.  Grandissime  ?  " 

"  Oui,  Madame." 

For    once,    Aurora    was    in    an     uncontrollable 


The  Eagle  visits  the  Doves  373 

flutter.  She  stammered,  lost  her  breath,  and  even 
spoke  worse  French  than  she  needed  to  have  done. 

"Be  pi  —  pleased,  sir  —  to  enter.  Clotilde,  my 
daughter — Monsieur  Grandissime.  P-please  be 
seated,  sir.  Monsieur  Grandissime,"  —  she  dropped 
into  a  chair  with  an  air  of  vivacity  pitiful  to  behold, 
—  "I  suppose  you  have  come  for  the  rent."  She 
blushed  even  more  violently  than  before,  and  her 
hand  stole  upward  upon  her  heart  to  stay  its  vio- 
lent beating.  "  Clotilde,  dear,  I  should  be  glad  if 
you  would  put  the  fire  before  the  screen ;  it  is  so 
much  too  warm."  She  pushed  her  chair  back  and 
shaded  her  face  with  her  hand.  "  I  think  the 
warmer  is  growing  weather  outside,  is  it  —  is  it 
not  ?  " 

The  struggles  of  a  wounded  bird  could  not  have 
been  more  piteous.  Monsieur  Grandissime  sought 
to  speak.  Clotilde,  too,  nerved  by  the  sight  of  her 
mother's  embarrassment,  came  to  her  support,  and 
she  and  the  visitor  spoke  in  one  breath. 

"  Maman,  if  Monsieur  —  pardon " 

"  Madame  Nancanou,  the  —  pardon,  Mademoi- 
selle   " 

"  I  have  presumed  to  call  upon  you,"  resumed 
M.  Grandissime,  addressing  himself  now  to  both 
ladies  at  once,  "  to  see  if  I  may  enlist  you  in  a 
purely  benevolent  undertaking  in  the  interest  of 
one  who  has  been  unfortunate — a  common  ac- 
quaintance   " 

"  Common  acquaint  —  "  interrupted  Aurora,  with 
a  hostile  lighting  of  her  eyes. 


374 


The  Grandissimes 


"I  believe  so  —  Professor  Frowenfeld."  M. 
Grandissme  saw  Clotilde  start,  and  in  her  turn 
falsely  accuse  the  fire  by  shading  her  face :  but  it 
was  no  time  to  stop.  "  Ladies,"  he  continued, 
"  please  allow  me,  for  the  sake  of  the  good  it  may 
effect,  to  speak  plainly  and  to  the  point." 

The  ladies  expressed  acquiescence  by  settling 
themselves  to  hear. 

"  Professor  Frowenfeld  had  the  extraordinary 
misfortune  this  morning  to  incur  the  suspicion  of 
having  entered  a  house  for  the  purpose  of — at 
least,  for  a  bad  design " 

"  He  is  innocent !  "  came  from  Clotilde,  against 
her  intention  ;  Aurora  covertly  put  out  a  hand,  and 
Clotilde  clutched  it  nervously. 

"  As,  for  example,  robbery,"  said  the  self-re- 
covered Aurora,  ignoring  Clotilde's  look  of  protes- 
tation. 

"Call  it  so,"  responded  M.  Grandissime.  "  Have 
you  heard  at  whose  house  this  was  ? " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  It  was  at  the  house  of  Palmyre  Philosophe." 

"  Palmyre  Philosophe  ! "  exclaimed  Aurora,  in 
low  astonishment.  Clotilde  let  slip,  in  a  tone  of 
indignant  incredulity,  a  soft  "  Ah  !  "  Aurora 
turned,  and  with  some  hope  that  M.  Grandissime 
would  not  understand,  ventured  to  say  in  Spanish, 
quietly  : 

"Come,  come,  this  will  never  do." 

And  Clotilde  replied  in  the  same  tongue  : 

"  I  know  it,  but  he  is  innocent." 


The  Eagle  visits  the  Doves  375 

"  Let  us  understand  each  other,"  said  their  visitor. 
"  There  is  not  the  faintest  idea  in  the  mind  of  one 
of  us  that  Professor  Frowenfeld  is  guilty  of  even  an 
intention  of  wrong;  otherwise  I  should  not  be 
here.  He  is  a  man  simply  incapable  of  anything 
ignoble." 

Clotilde  was  silent.  Aurora  answered  promptly, 
with  the  air  of  one  not  to  be  excelled  in  generosity  : 

"  Certainly,  he  is  very  incapabl'." 

"  Still,"  resumed  the  visitor,  turning  especially  to 
Clotilde,  "  the  known  facts  are  these,  according  to 
his  own  statement :  he  was  in  the  house  of  Palmyre 
on  some  legitimate  business  which,  unhappily,  he 
considers  himself  on  some  account  bound  not  to 
disclose,  and  by  some  mistake  of  Palmyre's  old 
Congo  woman,  was  set  upon  by  her  and  wounded, 
barelv  escaping  with  a  whole  skull  into  the  street, 
an  object  of  public  scandal.  Laying  aside  the  con- 
sideration of  his  feelings,  his  reputation  is  at  stake 
and  likely  to  be  ruined  unless  the  affair  can  be  ex- 
plained clearly  and  satisfactorily,  and  at  once,  by  his 
friends." 

"And  you  undertake "  began  Aurora. 

"Madame  Nancanou,"  said  Honore  Grandissime, 
leaning  toward  her  earnestly,  "you  know — I  must 
beg  leave  to  appeal  to  your  candor  and  confidence 
—  you  know  everything  concerning  Palmyre  that  I 
know.  You  know  me,  and  who  I  am  ;  you  know 
it  is  not  for  me  to  undertake  to  confer  with  Palmyre. 
I  know,  too,  her  old  affection  for  you  ;  she  lives 
but  a  little  way  down  this   street  upon  which  you 


376  The  Grandissimes 

live  ;  there  is  still  daylight  enough  at  your  disposal ; 
if  you  will,  you  can  go  to  see  her,  and  get  from  her 
a  full  and  complete  exoneration  of  this  young  man. 
She  cannot  come  to  you ;  she  is  not  fit  to  leave  her 
room." 

"  Cannot  leave  her  room  ?  " 

"  I  am,  possibly,  violating  confidence  in  this 
disclosure,  but  it  is  unavoidable  —  you  have  to 
know  :  she  is  not  fully  recovered  from  a  pistol- 
shot  wound  received  between  two  and  three  weeks 
ago." 

"  Pistol-shot  wound  !  " 

Both  ladies  started  forward  with  open  lips  and 
exclamations  of  amazement. 

"  Received  from  a  third  person  —  not  myself 
and  not  Professor  Frowenfeld  —  in  a  desperate 
attempt  made  by  her  to  avenge  the  wrongs  which 
she  has  suffered,  as  you,  Madam,  as  well  as  I,  are 
aware,  at  the  hands  of " 

Aurora  rose  up  with  a  majestic  motion  for  the 
speaker  to   desist. 

"  If  it  is  to  mention  the  person  of  whom  your 
allusion  reminds  me,  that  you  have  honored  us 
with  a  call  this  evening,  Monsieur " 

Her  eyes  were  flashing  as  he  had  seen  them  flash 
in  front  of  the  Place  d'Armes. 

"  I  beg  you  not  to  suspect  me  of  meanness,"  he 
answered,  gently,  and  with  a  remonstrative  smile. 
"  I  have  been  trying  all  day,  in  a  way  unnecessary 
to  explain,  to  be  generous." 

"  I    suppose    you    are    incapabl',"    said    Aurora, 


The  Eagle  visits  the  Doves  377 

following  her  double  meaning  with  that  combination 
of  mischievous  eyes  and  unsmiling  face  of  which 
she  was  master.  She  resumed  her  seat,  adding : 
"  It  is  generous  for  you  to  admit  that  Palmyre  has 
suffered  wrongs." 

"It  would  be,"  he  replied,  "to  attempt  to  re- 
pair them,  seeing  that  I  am  not  responsible  for 
them,  but  this  I  cannot  claim  yet  to  have  done. 
I  have  asked  of  you,  Madam,  a  generous  act. 
I  might  ask  another  of  you  both  jointly.  It 
is  to  permit  me  to  say  without  offence,  that 
there  is  one  man,  at  least,  of  the  name  ot  Gran- 
dissime  who  views  with  regret  and  mortification 
the  yet  deeper  wrongs  which  you  are  even  now 
suffering." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Aurora,  inwardly  ready  for 
fierce  tears,  but  with  no  outward  betrayal  save  a  trifle 
too  much  grace  and  an  over-bright  smile,  "  Monsieur 
is  much  mistaken;  we  are  quite  comfortable  and 
happy,  wanting  nothing,  eh,  Clotilde  ?  —  not  even 
our  rights,  ha,  ha  !  " 

She  rose  and  let  Alphonsina  in.  The  bundle 
was  still  in  the  negress's  arms.  She  passed  through 
the  room  and  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the 
kitchen. 

"  Oh  !  no,  sir,  not  at  all,"  repeated  Aurora,  as 
she  once  more  sat  down. 

"You  ouc^ht  to  want  your  rights,"  said  M. 
Gr.indissime.     "  You    ought  to   have   them." 

"  You  think  so  ?  " 

Aurora  was  really  finding  it  hard  to   conceal  her 


378  The  Grandissimes 

growing  excitement,  and  turned,  with  a  faint  hope 
of  relief,  toward  Clotilde. 

Clotilde,  looking  only  at  their  visitor,  but  feel- 
ing her  mother's  glance,  with  a  tremulous  and  half- 
choked  voice,  said  eagerly  : 

"  Then  why  do  you  not  give  them  to  us? 

"  Ah  !  "  interposed  Aurora,  "  we  shall  get  them 
to-morrow,  when  the  sheriff  comes." 

And,  thereupon  what  did  Clotilde  do  but  sit 
bolt  upright,  with  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and  let  the 
tears  roll,  tear  after  tear,  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,"  said  Aurora,  smiling  still, 
"those  that  you  see  are  really  tears.  Ha,  ha,  ha! 
excuse  me,  I  really  have  to  laugh ;  for  I  just 
happened  to  remember  our  meeting  at  the  masked 
ball  last  September.  We  had  such  a  pleasant  even- 
ing and  were  so  much  indebted  to  you  for  our 
enjoyment, —  particularly  myself, —  little  thinking, 
you  know,  that  you  were  one  of  that  great  family 
which  believes  we  ought  to  have  our  rights,  you 
know.  There  are  many  people  who  ought  to  have 
their  rights.  There  was  Bras-Coupe ;  indeed,  he 
got  them — found  them  in  the  swamp.  Mavbe 
Clotilde  and  I  shall  find  ours  in  the  street.  When 
we  unmasked  in  the  theatre,  you  know,  I  did  not 
know  you  were  my  landlord,  and  you  did  not  know 
that  I  could  not  pay  a  few  picayunes  of  rent.  But 
you  must  excuse  those  tears  ;  Clotilde  is  generally  a 
brave  little  woman,  and  would  not  be  so  rude  as  to 
weep  before  a  stranger;  but  she  is  weak  to-day  — 
we    are  both  weak   to-day,    from    the  fact  that  we 


The  Eagle  visits  the  Doves  379 

have  eaten  nothing  since  early  morning,  although  we 
have  abundance  ot  food  —  for  want  of  appetite,  you 
understand.  You  must  sometimes  be  affected  the 
same  way,  having  the  care  of  so  much  wealth  of 
all  sorts y 

Honore  Grandissime  had  risen  to  his  feet  and 
was  standing  with  one  hand  on  the  edge  of  the 
lofty  mantel,  his  hat  in  the  other  dropped  at  his 
side  and  his  eye  fixed  upon  Aurora's  beautiful 
face,  whence  her  small  nervous  hand  kept  dashing 
aside  the  tears  through  which  she  defiantly  talked 
and  smiled.  Clotilde  sat  with  clenched  hands  buried 
in  her  lap,  looking  at  Aurora  and  still  weeping. 

And  M.  Grandissime  was  saying  to  himself: 

"  If  I  do  this  thing  now  —  if  I  do  it  here  —  I 
do  it  on  an  impulse ;  I  do  it  under  constraint  of 
woman's  tears ;  I  do  it  because  I  love  this  woman ; 
I  do  it  to  get  out  of  a  corner ;  I  do  it  in  weak- 
ness, not  in  strength  ;  I  do  it  without  having  made 
up  my  mind  whether  or  not  it  is  the  best  thing 
to  do." 

And  then,  without  intention,  with  scarcely  more 
consciousness  of  movement  than  belongs  to  the 
undermined  tree  which  settles,  roots  and  all,  into 
the  swollen  stream,  he  turned  and  moved  toward 
the  door. 

Clotilde  rose. 

"  Monsieur  Grandissime." 

He  stopped  and  looked  back. 

"We  will  see  Palmyre  at  once,  according  to  your 
request." 


380  The  Grandissimes 

He  turned  his  eyes  toward  Aurora. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  and  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
handkerchief  and  sobbed  aloud. 

She  heard  his  footstep  again ;  it  reached  the 
door;  the  door  opened  —  closed;  she  heard  his 
footstep  again  ;  was  he  gone  ? 

He  was  gone. 

The  two  women  threw  themselves  into  each 
other's  arms  and  wept.  Presently  Clotilde  left  the 
room.  She  came  back  in  a  moment  from  the  rear 
apartment,  with  a  bonnet  and  veil  in  her  hands. 

"  No,"  said  Aurora,  rising  quickly,  "  I  must  do 
it." 

"  There  is  no  time  to  lose,"  said  Clotilde.  "  It 
will  soon  be  dark." 

It  was  hardly  a  minute  before  Aurora  was  ready 
to  start.  A  kiss,  a  sorrowful  look  of  love  ex- 
changed, the  veil  dropped  over  the  swollen  eyes, 
and  Aurora  was  gone. 

A  minute  passed,  hardly  more,  and  —  what  was 
this  ?  — the  soft  patter  of  Aurora's  knuckles  on  the 
door. 

"Just  here  at  the  corner  I  saw  Palmyre  leaving 
her  house  and  walking  down  the  rue  Royale.  We 
must  wait  until  morn " 

Again  a  footfall  on  the  doorstep,  and  the  door, 
which  was  standing  ajar,  was  pushed  slightly  by  the 
force  of  the  masculine  knock  which  followed. 

"  Allow  me,"  said  the  voice  of  Honore  Grandis- 
sime,  as  Aurora  bowed  at  the  door.  "  I  should 
have  handed  you  this ;  good-day." 


The  Eagle  visits  the  Doves  381 

She  received  a  missive.  It  was  long,  like  an 
official  document ;  it  bore  evidence  of  having  been 
carried  for  some  hours  in  a  coat-pocket,  and  was 
folded  in  one  of  those  old,  troublesome  ways  in  use 
before  the  days  of  envelopes.  Aurora  pulled  it 
open. 

"  It  is  all  figures  ;  light  a  candle." 

The  candle  was  lighted  by  Clotilde  and  held  over 
Aurora's  shoulder ;  they  saw  a  heading  and  footing 
more  conspicuous  than  the  rest  of  the  writing. 

The  heading  read : 

"  Aurora  and  Clotilde  Nancanou,  owners  of  Fausse  Riviere 
Plantation,  in  account  with  Honor e  Grandissime." 

The  footing  read  : 

"  Balance  at  credit,  subject  to  order  of  Aurora  and  Clotilde 
Nancanou,  $105,000.00." 

The  date  followed  : 

"  March  9,  1804." 

and  the  signature  : 
"  H.  Grandissime" 

A  small  piece  of  torn  white  paper  slipped  from 
the  account  to  the  floor.  Clotilde's  eye  followed 
it,  but  Aurora,  without  acknowledgement  of  having 
seen  it,  covered  it  with  her  foot. 

In  the  morning  Aurora  awoke  first.  She  drew 
from  under  her  pillow  this  slip  of  paper.  She 
had  not  dared  look  at  it  until   now.      The  writing 


382 


The  Grandissimes 


on    it  had    been   roughly    scratched    down  with    a 
pencil.     It  read : 

"  Not  for  love  of  woman,  but  in  the  name  of  justice  and  the 
fear  of  God." 

"  And  I  was  so  cruel,"  she  whispered. 

Ah  !  Honore  Grandissime,  she  was  kind  to  that 
little  writing  !  She  did  not  put  it  back  under  her 
pillow ;  she  kept  it  warm,  Honore  Grandissime, 
from   that  time  forth. 


CHAPTER   XLIV 


IAD    FOR     CHARLIE    KEEKE 


N  the  same  evening  of  which  we  have 
been  telling,  about  the  time  that  Aurora 
and  Clotilde  were  dropping  their  last 
tear  of  joy  over  the  document  of  restitu- 
tion, a  noticeable  figure  stood  alone  at  the  corner  of 
the  rue  du  Canal  and  the  rue  Chartres.  He  had 
reached  there  and  paused,  just  as  the  brighter  glare 
of  the  set  sun  was  growing  dim  above  the  tops  of 
the  cypresses.  After  walking  with  some  rapidity  of 
step,  he  had  stopped  aimlessly,  and  laid  his  hand 
with  an  air  of  weariness  upon  a  rotting  China-tree 
that  leaned  over  the  ditch  at  the  edge  of  the  un- 
paved  walk. 

"  Setting  in  cypress,"  he   murmured.     We   need 
not  concern  ourselves  as  to  his  meaning. 


384  The  Grandissimes 

One  could  think,  aloud  there  with  impunity.  In 
1804,  Canal  street  was  the  upper  boundary  of  New 
Orleans.  Beyond  it,  to  southward,  the  open  plain 
was  dotted  with  country-houses,  brick-kilns,  clumps 
of  live-oak  and  groves  of  pecan.  At  the  hour  men- 
tioned the  outlines  of  these  objects  were  already 
darkening.  At  one  or  two  points  the  sky  was 
reflected  from  marshy  ponds.  Out  to  westward 
rose  conspicuously  the  old  house  and  willow- 
copse  of  Jean  Poquelin.  Down  the  empty  street 
or  road,  which  stretched  with  arrow-like  straightness 
toward  the  northwest,  the  draining-canal  that  gave 
it  its  name  tapered  away  between  occasional  over- 
hanging willows  and  beside  broken  ranks  of  rot- 
ting palisades,  its  foul,  crawling  waters  blushing, 
gilding  and  purpling  under  the  swiftly  waning 
light,  and  ending  suddenly  in  the  black  shadow  of 
the  swamp.  The  observer  of  this  dismal  prospect 
leaned  heavily  on  his  arm,  and  cast  his  glance  out 
along  the  beautified  corruption  of  the  canal.  His 
eye  seemed  quickened  to  detect  the  smallest  repel- 
lant  details  of  the  scene;  every  cypress  stump 
that  stood  in,  or  overhung,  the  slimy  water;  every 
ruined  indigo-vat  or  blasted  tree,  every  broken 
thing,  every  bleached  bone  of  ox  or  horse  —  and 
they  were  many  —  for  roods  around.  As  his  eye 
passed  them  slowly  over  and  swept  back  again 
around  the  dreary  view,  he  sighed  heavily  and  said  : 
"  Dissolution,"  and  then  again  —  "  Dissolution  ! 
order  of  the  day " 

A    secret   overhearer     might    have    followed,   by 


Bad  for  Charlie  Keene  385 

these  occasional  exclamatory  utterances,  the  course 
of  a  devouring  trouble  prowling  up  and  down 
through  his  thoughts,  as  one's  eye  tracks  the  shark 
by  the  occasional  cutting  of  his  fin  above  the  water. 

He  spoke  again  : 

"  It  is  in  such  moods  as  this  that  fools  drown 
themselves." 

His  speech  was  French.  He  straightened  up, 
smote  the  tree  softly  with  his  palm,  and  breathed 
a  long,  deep  sigh  —  such  a  sigh,  if  the  very  truth 
be  told,  as  belongs  by  right  to  a  lover.  And  yet 
his  mind  did  not  dwell  on  love. 

He  turned  and  left  the  place ;  but  the  trouble 
that  was  plowing  hither  and  thither  through  the 
deep  of  his  meditations  went  with  him.  As  he 
turned  into  the  rue  Chartres  it  showed  itself  thus  : 

"Right;  it  is  but  right;"  he  shook  his  head 
slowly  —  "  it  is  but  right." 

In  the  rue  Douane  he  spoke  again  : 

"Ah!  Frowenfeld  "  —  and  smiled  unpleasantly, 
with  his  head  down. 

And  as  he  made  yet  another  turn,  and  took  his 
meditative  way  down  the  city's  front,  along  the 
blacksmith's  shops  in  the  street  afterward  called  Old 
Levee,  he  resumed,  in  English,  and  with  a  distinct- 
ness that  made  a  staggering  sailor  halt  and  look 
after  him : 

"  There  are  but  two  steps  to  civilization,  the  first 
easy,  the  second  difficult;  to  construct  —  to  recon- 
struct—  ah!  there  it  is!  the  tearing  down!     The 

tear' " 

*5 


386  The  Grandissimes 

He  was  still,  but  repeated  the  thought  by  a  ges- 
ture of  distress  turned  into  a  slow  stroke  of  the 
forehead. 

"  Monsieur  Honore  Grandissime,"  said  a  voice 
just  ahead. 

"  Eh,  bien  ?  " 

At  the  mouth  of  an  alley,  in  the  dim  light  of  the 
streep  lamp,  stood  the  dark  figure  of  Honore 
Grandissime,  f.  m.  c,  holding  up  the  loosely  hang- 
ing form  of  a  small  man,  the  whole  front  of  whose 
clothing  was  saturated  with  blood. 

"Why,  Charlie  Keene  !  Let  him  down  again, 
quickly  —  quickly  ;  do  not  hold  him  so  !  " 

"  Hands  off,"  came  in  a  ghastly  whisper  from  the 
shape. 

"Oh,  Chahlie,  my  boy " 

"  Go  and  finish  your  courtship,"  whispered  the 
doctor. 

"  Oh  Charlie,  I  have  just  made  it  forever  impos- 
sible !  " 

"  Then  help  me  back  to  my  bed  ;  I  don't  care  to 
die  in  the  street." 


CHAPTER   XLV 

MORE     REPARATION 

"  That  is  all,"  said  the  fairer  Honore,  outside 
Doctor  Keene's  sick-room  about  ten  o'clock  at 
night.  He  was  speaking  to  the  black  son  of 
Clemence,  who  had  been  serving  as  errand-boy  for 


More  Reparation  387 

some  hours.  He  spoke  in  a  low  tone  just  without 
the  half-open  door,  folding  again  a  paper  which  the 
lad  had  lately  borne  to  the  apothecary  of  the  rue 
Royale,  and  had  now  brought  back  with  Joseph's 
answer  written  under  Honore's  inquiry. 

"  That  is  all,"  said  the  other  Honore,  standing 
partly  behind  the  first,  as  the  eyes  of  his  little  menial 
turned  upon  him  that  deprecatory  glance  of  inquiry 
so  common  to  slave  children.  The  lad  went  a  little 
way  down  the  corridor,  curled  up  upon  the  floor 
against  the  wall,  and  was  soon  asleep.  The  fairer 
Honore  handed  the  darker  the  slip  of  paper;  it 
was  received  and  returned  in  silence.  The  question 
was : 

"  Can  you  state  anything  positive  concerning  the  duel?" 

And  the  reply  : 

"  Positively  there  will  be  none.  Sylvestre  my  sworn  friend  for 
lifer 

The  half-brothers  sat  down  under  a  dim  hanging 
lamp  in  the  corridor,  and  except  that  every  now  and 
then  one  or  the  other  stepped  noiselessly  to  the 
door  to  look  in  upon  the  sleeping  sick  man,  or  in 
the  opposite  direction  to  moderate  by  a  push  with 
the  foot  the  snoring  of  Clemence's  "  boy,"  they 
sat  the  whole  night  through  in  whispered  counsel. 

The  one,  at  the  request  of  the  other,  explained 
how  he  had  come  to  be  with  the  little  doctor  in 
such  extremity. 

It  seems  that  Clemence,  seeing  and  understand- 
ing the  doctor's  imprudence,  had  sallied  out  with 


388  The  Grandissimes 

the  resolve  to  set  some  person  on  his  track.  We 
have  said  that  she  went  in  search  of  her  master. 
Him  she  met,  and  though  she  could  not  really 
count  him  one  of  the  doctor's  friends,  yet,  rightly 
believing  in  his  humanity,  she  told  him  the  matter. 
He  set  off  in  what  was  for  him  a  quick  pace  in 
search  of  the  rash  invalid,  was  misdirected  by  a  too 
confident  child  and  had  given  up  the  hope  of  find- 
ing him,  when  a  faint  sound  of  distress  just  at  hand 
drew  him  into  an  alley,  where,  close  down  against 
a  wall,  with  his  face  to  the  earth,  lay  Doctor  Keene. 
The  f.  m.  c.  had  just  raised  him  and  borne  him  out 
of  the  alley  when  Honore  came  up. 

"  And  you  say  that,  when  you  would  have  in- 
quired for  him  at  Frowenfeld's,  you  saw  Palmyre 
there,  standing  and  talking  with  Frowenfeld  ?  Tell 
me  more  exactly." 

And  the  other,  with  that  grave  and  gentle  econ- 
omy of  words  which  made  his  speech  so  unique, 
recounted  what  we  amplify  : 

Palmyre  had  needed  no  pleading  to  induce  her  to 
exonerate  Joseph.  The  doctors  were  present  at 
Frowenfeld's  in  more  than  usual  number.  There 
was  unusualness,  too,  in  their  manner  and  their  talk. 
They  were  not  entirely  free  from  the  excitement  of 
the  day,  and  as  they  talked  —  with  an  air  of  superi- 
ority, of  Creole  inflammability,  and  with  some  con- 
tempt—  concerning  Camille  Brahmin's  and  Charlie 
Mandarin's  efforts  to  precipitate  a  war,  they  were 
yet  visibly  in  a  state  of  expectation.  Frowenfeld, 
they  softly  said,  had  in  his  odd  way  been  indiscreet 


More  Reparation  389 

among  these  inflammables  at  Maspero's  just  when 
he  could  least  afford  to  be  so,  and  there  was  no  tell- 
ing what  they  might  take  the  notion  to  do  to  him 
before  bedtime.  All  that  over  and  above  the  inde- 
pendent, unexplained  scandal  of  the  early  morning. 
So  Joseph  and  his  friends  this  evening,  like  Aurora 
and  Clotilde  in  the  morning,  were,  as  we  nowadays 
say  of  buyers  and  sellers,  "  apart,"  when  suddenly 
and  unannounced,  Palmyre  presented  herself  among 
them.  When  the  f.  m.  c.  saw  her,  she  had  already 
handed  Joseph  his  hat  and  with  much  sober  grace 
was  apologizing  for  her  slave's  mistake.  All  evi- 
dence of  her  being  wounded  was  concealed.  The 
extraordinary  excitement  of  the  morning  had  not 
hurt  her,  and  she  seemed  in  perfect  health.  The 
doctors  sat  or  stood  around  and  gave  rapt  attention 
to  her  patois,  one  or  two  translating  it  for  Joseph, 
and  he  blushing  to  the  hair,  but  standing  erect  and 
receiving  it  at  second  hand  with  silent  bows.  The 
f.  m.  c.  had  gazed  on  her  for  a  moment,  and  then 
forced  himself  away.  He  was  among  the  few  who 
had  not  heard  the  morning  scandal,  and  he  did  not 
comprehend  the  evening  scene.  He  now  asked 
Honore  concerning  it,  and  quietly  showed  great 
relief  when  it  was  explained. 

Then  Honore,  breaking  a  silence,  called  the  at- 
tention of  the  f.  m.  c.  to  the  fact  that  the  latter  had 
two  tenants  at  Number  19  rue  Bienville.  Honore 
became  the  narrator  now  and  told  all,  finally  stating 
that  the  die  was  cast  —  restitution  made. 

And  then  the  darker  Honore  made  a  proposition 


39° 


The  Grandissimes 


to  the  other,  which,  it  is  little  to  say,  was  startling. 
They  discussed  it  for  hours. 

"  So  just  a  condition,"  said  the  merchant,  raising 
his  whisper  so  much  that  the  rentier  laid  a  hand  in 
his  elbow,  —  "such  mere  justice,"  he  said,  more 
softly,  "  ought  to  be  an  easy  condition.  God 
knows"  —  he  lifted  his  glance  reverently  —  "my 
very  right  to  exist  comes  after  yours.  You  are  the 
elder." 

The  solemn  man  offered  no  disclaimer. 

What  could  the  proposition  be  which  involved  so 
grave  an  issue,  and  to  which  M.  Grandissime's  final 
answer  was  "  I  will  do  it "  ? 

It  was  that  Honore  f.  m.  c.  should  become  a 
member  of  the  mercantile  house  of  H.  Grandissime, 
enlisting  in  its  capital  all  his  wealth.  And  the  one 
condition  was  that  the  new  style  should  be  Grandis- 
sime Brothers. 


CHAPTER   XLVI 

THE     PIQUE-EN-TERRE    LOSES    ONE    OF    HER    CREW 

Ask  the  average  resident  of  New  Orleans  if  his 
town  is  on  an  island,  and  he  will  tell  you  no.  He 
will  also  wonder  how  any  one  could  have  got  that 
notion,  —  so  completely  has  Orleans  Island,  whose 
name  at  the  beginning  of  the  present  century  was 
in  everybody's  mouth,  been  forgotten.  It  was  once 
a  question  of  national  policy,  a  point  of  difference 
between    Republican   and    Federalist,   whether    the 


Pique-en-Terre  Loses  One  of  Her  Crew     391 

United  States  ought  to  buy  this  little  strip  of  semi- 
submerged  land,  or  whether  it  would  not  be  more 
righteous  to  steal  it.  The  Kentuckians  kept  the 
question  at  a  red  heat  by  threatening  to  become  an 
empire  by  themselves  if  one  course  or  the  other  was 
not  taken  ;  but  when  the  First  Consul  offered  to  sell 
all  Louisiana,  our  commissioners  were  quite  robbed 
of  breath.  They  had  approached  to  ask  a  hair 
from  the  elephant's  tail,  and  were  offered  the  ele- 
phant. 

For  Orleans  Island  —  island  it  certainly  was  until 
General  Jackson  closed  Bayou  Manchac  —  is  a 
narrow,  irregular,  flat  tract  of  forest,  swamp,  city, 
prairie  and  sea-marsh,  lying  east  and  west,  with 
the  Mississippi,  trending  southeastward,  for  its 
southern  boundary,  and  for  its  northern,  a  parallel 
and  contiguous  chain  of  alternate  lakes  and  bayous, 
opening  into  the  river  through  Bayou  Manchac, 
and  into  the  Gulf  through  the  passes  of  the  Mal- 
heureuse  Islands.  On  the  narrowest  part  of  it 
stands  New  Orleans.  Turning  and  looking  back 
over  the  rear  of  the  town,  one  may  easily  see  from 
her  steeples  Lake  Pontchartrain  glistening  away  to 
the  northern  horizon,  and  in  his  fancy  extend  the 
picture  to  right  and  left  till  Pontchartrain  is  linked 
in  the  west  by  Pass  Manchac  to  Lake  Maurepas, 
and  in  the  east  by  the  Rigolets  and  Chef  Menteur 
to  Lake  Borgne. 

An  oddity  of  the  Mississippi  Delta  is  the  habit 
the  little  streams  have  of  running  away  from  the 
big  ones.     The   river  makes  its  own  bed   and  its 


392  The  Grandissimes 

own  banks,  and  continuing  season  after  season, 
through  ages  of  alternate  overflow  and  subsidence, 
to  elevate  those  banks,  creates  a  ridge  which  thus 
becomes  a  natural  elevated  aqueduct.  Other 
slightly  elevated  ridges  mark  the  present  or  former 
courses  of  minor  outlets,  by  which  the  waters  of  the 
Mississippi  have  found  the  sea.  Between  these 
ridges  lie  the  cypress  swamps,  through  whose  pro- 
found shades  the  clear,  dark,  deep  bayous  creep 
noiselessly  away  into  the  tall  grasses  of  the  shaking 
prairies.  The  original  New  Orleans  was  built  on 
the  Mississippi  ridge,  with  one  of  these  forest-and- 
water-covered  basins  stretching  back  behind  her  to 
westward  and  northward,  closed  in  by  Metairie 
Ridge  and  Lake  Pontchartrain.  Local  engineers 
preserve  the  tradition  that  the  Bayou  Sauvage  once 
had  its  rise,  so  to  speak,  in  Toulouse  street. 
Though  depleted  by  the  city's  present  drainage 
system  and  most  likely  poisoned  by  it  as  well,  its 
waters  still  move  seaward  in  a  course  almost  due 
easterly,  and  empty  into  Chef  Menteur,  one  of 
the  watery  threads  of  a  tangled  skein  of  "  passes  " 
between  the  lakes  and  the  open  Gulf.  Three- 
quarters  of  a  century  ago  this  Bayou  Sauvage  (or 
Gentilly  —  corruption  of  Chantilly)  was  a  navigable 
stream  of  wild  and  sombre  beauty. 

On  a  certain  morning  in  August,  1804,  and  con- 
sequently some  five  months  after  the  events  last 
mentioned,  there  emerged  from  the  darkness  of 
Bayou  Sauvage  into  the  prairie-bordered  waters  of 
Chef  Menteur,   while   the   morning   star  was    still 


Pique-en-Terre  Loses  One  of  Her  Crew     393 

luminous  in  the  sky  above  and  in  the  water  helow, 
and  only  the  practised  eye  could  detect  the  first 
glimmer  of  day,  a  small,  stanch,  single-masted, 
broad  and  very  light-draught  boat,  whose  innocent 
character,  primarily  indicated  in  its  coat  of  many 
colors,  —  the  hull  being  yellow  below  the  water 
line  and  white  above,  with  tasteful  stripings  of  blue 
and  red,  —  was  further  accentuated  by  the  peaceful 
name  of  Pique-en-terre  (the  Sandpiper). 

She  seemed,  too,  as  she  entered  the  Chef  Men- 
teur,  as  if  she  would  have  liked  to  turn  southward ; 
but  the  wind  did  not  permit  this,  and  in  a  moment 
more  the  water  was  rippling  after  her  swift  rudder, 
as  she  glided  away  in  the  direction  of  Pointe  Aux 
Herbes.  But  when  she  had  left  behind  her  the 
mouth  of  the  passage,  she  changed  her  course  and, 
leaving  the  Pointe  on  her  left,  bore  down  toward 
Petites  Coquilles,  obviously  bent  upon  passing 
through  the   Rigolets. 

We  know  not  how  to  describe  the  joyousness  of 
the  effect  when  at  length  one  leaves  behind  him  the 
shadow  and  gloom  of  the  swamp,  and  there  bursts 
upon  his  sight  the  widespread,  flower-decked,  bird- 
haunted  prairies  of  Lake  Catharine.  The  inside 
and  outside  of  a  prison  scarcely  furnish  a  greater 
contrast ;  and  on  this  fair  August  morning  the 
contrast  was  at  its  strongest.  The  day  broke  across 
a  glad  expanse  of  cool  and  fragrant  green,  silver- 
laced  with  a  network  of  crisp  salt  pools  and  passes, 
lakes,  bayous  and  lagoons,  that  gave  a  good  smell, 
the   inspiring   odor   of  interclasped   sea   and   shore, 


394 


The  Grandissimes 


and  both  beautified  and  perfumed  the  happy  earth, 
laid  bare  to  the  rising  sun.  Waving  marshes  of 
wild  oats,  drooping  like  sated  youth  from  too  much 
pleasure;  watery  acres  hid  under  crisp-growing 
greenth  starred  with  pond-lilies  and  rippled  by 
water-fowl ;  broad  stretches  of  high  grass,  with 
thousands  of  ecstatic  wings  palpitating  above  them; 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  white  and  pink  mallows 
clapping  their  hands  in  voiceless  rapture,  and  that 
amazon  queen  of  the  wild  flowers,  the  morning- 
glory,  stretching  her  myriad  lines,  lifting  up  the 
trumpet  and  waving  her  colors,  white,  azure  and 
pink,  with  lacings  of  spider's  web,  heavy  with  pearls 
and  diamonds  —  the  gifts  of  the  summer  night. 
The  crew  of  the  Pique-en-terre  saw  all  these  and 
felt  them  ;  for,  whatever  they  may  have  been  or 
failed  to  be,  they  were  men  whose  heartstrings 
responded  to  the  touches  of  nature.  One  alone  of 
their  company,  and  he  the  one  who  should  have 
felt  them  most,  showed  insensibility,  sighed  laugh- 
ingly and  then  laughed  sighingly,  in  the  face  of  his 
fellows  and  of  all  this  beauty,  and  profanely  con- 
fessed that  his  heart's  desire  was  to  get  back  to  his 
wife.  He  had  been  absent  from  her  now  for  nine 
hours  ! 

But  the  sun  is  getting  high;  Petites  Coquilles 
has  been  passed  and  left  astern,  the  eastern  end 
of  Las  Conchas  is  on  the  after-larboard-quarter, 
the  briny  waters  of  Lake  Borgne  flash  far  and  wide 
their  dazzling  white  and  blue,  and,  as  the  little  boat 
issues  from  the   deep  channel  of  the   Rigolets,  the 


Pique-en-Terre  Loses  One  of  Her  Crew     395 

white-armed  waves  catch  her  and  toss  her  like  a 
merry  babe.  A  triumph  for  the  helmsman  —  he  it 
is  who  sighs,  at  intervals  of  tiresome  frequency,  for 
his  wife.  He  had,  from  the  very  starting-place  in 
the  upper  waters  of  Bayou  Sauvage,  declared  in 
favor  of  the  Rigolets  as  —  wind  and  tide  considered 
—  the  most  practicable  of  all  the  passes.  Now  that 
thev  were  out,  he  forgot  for  a  moment  the  self- 
amusing  plaint  of  conjugal  separation  to  flaunt  his 
triumph.  Would  any  one  hereafter  dispute  with 
him  on  the  subject  of  Louisiana  sea-coast-naviga- 
tion ?  He  knew  every  pass  and  piece  of  water 
like  A,  B,  C,  and  could  tell,  faster,  much  faster 
than  he  could  repeat  the  multiplication  table  (upon 
which  he  was  a  little  slow  and  doubtful),  the 
amount  of  water  in  each  at  ebb  tide  —  Pass  Jean 
or   Petit     Pass,     Unknown    Pass,     Petit     Rigolet, 

Chef  Menteur, 

Out  on  the  far  southern  horizon,  in  the  Gulf — 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico  —  there  appears  a  speck  of 
white.  It  is  known  to  those  on  board  the  Pique- 
en-terre,  the  moment  it  is  descried,  as  the  canvas 
of  a  large  schooner.  The  opinion,  first  expressed 
bv  the  youthful  husband,  who  still  reclines  with  the 
tiller  held  firmly  under  his  arm,  and  then  by 
another  member  of  the  company  who  sits  on  the 
centreboard-well,  is  unanimously  adopted,  that  she 
is  making  for  the  Rigolets,  will  pass  Petites  Coquil- 
les  by  eleven  o'clock,  and  will  tie  up  at  the  little 
port  of  St.  Jean,  on  the  bayou  of  the  same  name, 
before  sundown,  if  the  wind   holds  anywise  as  it  is. 


396  The  Grandissimes 

On  the  other  hand,  the  master  of  the  distant 
schooner  shuts  his  glass,  and  says  to  the  single 
passenger  whom  he  has  aboard  that  the  little  sail 
just  visible  toward  the  Rigolets  is  a  sloop  with  a 
half-deck,  well  filled  with  men,  in  all  probability  a 
pleasure  party  bound  to  the  Chandeleurs  on  a 
fishing  and  gunning  excursion,  and  passes  into 
comments  on  the  superior  skill  of  landsmen  over 
seamen  in  the  handling  of  small  sailing  craft. 

By  and  by  the  two  vessels  near  each  other.  They 
approach  within  hailing  distance,  and  are  announcing 
each  to  each  their  identity,  when  the  young  man  at 
the  tiller  jerks  himself  to  a  squatting  posture,  and, 
from  under  a  broad-brimmed  and  slouched  straw 
hat,  cries  to  the  schooner's  one  passenger  : 

"  Hello,  Challie  Keene." 

And  the  passenger  more  quietly  answers  back  : 

"  Hello,  Raoul,  is  that  you  ?  " 

M.  Innerarity  replied,  with  a  profane  parenthesis, 
that  it  was  he. 

"  You  kin  hask  Sylvestre  !  "  he  concluded. 

The  doctor's  eye  passed  around  a  semicircle  of 
some  eight  men,  the  most  of  whom  were  quite 
young,  but  one  or  two  of  whom  were  gray,  sitting 
with  their  arms  thrown  out  upon  the  wash-board, 
in  the  dark  neglige  of  amateur  fishermen  and  with 
that  exultant  look  of  expectant  deviltry  in  their 
handsome  faces  which  characterizes  the  Creole  with 
his  collar  off. 

The  mettlesome  little  doctor  felt  the  odds  against 
him  in  the  exchange  of  greetings. 


Pique-en-Terre  Loses  One  of  Her  Crew     397 

"  Ola,  Dawctah  !  " 

"  He,  Doctah,  que-ce  qui  t'apres  fe?  " 

"  Ho,  ho,  compere  Noyo  !  " 

"  Comment  va,  Docta  ?  " 

A  light  peppering  of  profanity  accompanied  each 
salute. 

The  doctor  put  on  defensively  a  smile  of  superi- 
ority to  the  juniors  and  of  courtesy  to  the  others, 
and  responsively  spoke  their  names  : 

"  'Polyte  —  Sylvestre  —  Achille  —  Emile  —  ah  ! 
Agamemnon." 

The  Doctor  and  Agamemnon  raised  their  hats. 

As  Agamemnon  was  about  to  speak,  a  general 
expostulatory  outcry  drowned  his  voice.  The 
Pique-en-terre  was  going  about  close  abreast  of  the 
schooner,  and  angry  questions  and  orders  were 
flying  at  Raoul's  head  like  a  volley  of  eggs. 

"  Messieurs,"  said  Raoul,  partially  rising  but 
still  stooping  over  the  tiller,  and  taking  his  hat  off 
his  bright  curls  with  mock  courtesy,  "  I  am  going 
back  to  New  Orleans.  I  would  not  give  that  for 
all  the  fish  in  the  sea;  I  want  to  see  my  wife.  I 
am  going  back  to  New  Orleans  to  see  my  wife  — 
and  to  congratulate  the  city  upon  your  absence." 
Incredulity,  expostulation,  reproach,  taunt,  mal- 
ediction —  he    smiled  unmoved    upon    them    all. 

"  Messieurs,  I  must  go  and  see  my  wife." 

Amid  redoubled  outcries  he  gave  the  helm  to 
Camille  Brahmin,  and  fighting  his  way  with  his 
pretty  feet  against  half-real  efforts  to  throw  him 
overboard,  clambered  forward  to  the  mast,  whence 


398  The  Grandissimes 

a  moment  later,  with  the  help  of  the  schooner- 
master's  hand,  he  reached  the  deck  of  the  larger 
vessel.  The  Pique-en-terre  turned,  and  with  a  little 
flutter  spread  her  smooth  wing  and  skimmed  away. 

"  Doctah  Keene,  look  yeh  !  "  M.  Innerarity  held 
up  a  hand  whose  third  finger  wore  the  conventional 
ring  of  the  Creole  bridegroom.  "  Wat  you  got  to 
say  to  dat  ?  " 

The  little  doctor  felt  a  faintness  run  through  his 
veins,  and  a  thrill  of  anger  follow  it.  The  poor 
man  could  not  imagine  a  love  affair  that  did  not 
include  Clotilde  Nancanou. 

"  Whom  have  you  married  ?  " 

"  De  pritties'  gal  in  de  citty." 

The  questioner  controlled  himself. 

"  M-hum,"  he  responded,  with  a  contraction  of 
the  eyes. 

Raoul  waited  an  instant  for  some  kindlier  com- 
ment, and  finding  the  hope  vain,  suddenly  assumed 
a  look  of  delighted  admiration. 

"  Hi,  yi,  yi  !  Doctah,  'ow  you  har  lookingue 
fine." 

The  true  look  of  the  doctor  was  that  he  had  not 
much  longer  to  live.  A  smile  of  bitter  humor 
passed  over  his  face,  and  he  looked  for  a  near  seat, 
saying : 

"  How  's  Frowenfeld  ?  " 

Raoul  struck  an  ecstatic  attitude  and  stretched 
forth  his  hand  as  if  the  doctor  could  not  fail  to 
grasp  it.     The  invalid's  heart  sank  like  lead. 

"  Frowenfeld  has  got  her,"  he  thought. 


Pique-en-Terre  Loses  One  of  Her  Crew     399 

"  Well?  "  said  he  with  a  frown  of  impatience  and 
restraint;  and  Raoul  cried: 

"  I  sole  my  pig-shoe  !  " 

The  doctor   could  not  help  but  laugh. 

"  Shades  of  the  masters  !  " 

"  No  ;  '  Louizyanna  rif-using  to  hantre  de 
h-Union. 

The  doctor  stood  corrected. 

The  two  walked  across  the  deck,  following  the 
shadow  of  the  swinging  sail.  The  doctor  lay  down 
in  a  low-swung  hammock,  and  Raoul  sat  upon  the 
deck  a  la  Turque. 

"  Come,  come,  Raoul,  tell  me,  what  is  the 
news  ?  " 

"  News  ?  Oh,  I  donno.  You  'eard  concernin' 
the  dool  ? " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say " 

"  Yesseh  !  " 

"  Agricola  and  Sylvestre  ?  " 

"  Wat  de  dev'  !  No  !  Burr  an*  'Ammiltong ;  in 
Noo-Juzzy-las-June.     Collonnel  Burr, 'e " 

"  Oh,  fudge  !  yes.      How  is  Frowenfeld  ?  " 

"  'E  's  well.  Guess  'ow  much  I  sole  my  pig- 
shoe." 

"  Well,  how  much  ?  " 

"  Two  'ondred  fifty."  He  laid  himself  out  at 
length,  his  elbow  on  the  deck,  his  head  in  his 
hand.     "  I  believe  I  'm  sorry  I  sole  'er." 

"  I  don't  wonder.  How 's  Honore  ?  Tell  me 
what  has  happened.  Remember,  I  've  been  away 
five  months." 


400  The  Grandissimes 

"  No  ;  I  am  verrie  glad  dat  I  sole  'er.  What  r 
Ha !  I  should  think  so  !  If  it  have  not  had  been 
fo'  dat  I  would  not  be  married  to-day.  You  think 
I  would  get  married  on  dat  sal'rie  w'at  Proffis-or 
Frowenfel'  was  payin'  me  ?  Twenty-five  dolla'  de 
mont'  ?  Docta  Keene,  no  gen'leman  h-ought  to 
git  married  if  'e  'ave  not  anny'ow  fifty  dolla'  de 
mont'!  If  I  wasn'  a  h-artiz  I  wouldn'  git  married  ; 
I  gie  you  my  word  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  little  doctor,  "  you  are  right. 
Now  tell  me  the  news." 

"  Well,  dat  Cong-ress  gone  an'  make  " 

"  Raoul,  stop.  I  know  that  Congress  has 
divided  the  province  into  two  territories ;  I  know 
you  Creoles  think  all  your  liberties  are  lost ;  I 
know  the  people  are  in  a  great  stew  because  they 
are  not  allowed  to  elect  their  own  officers  and  legis- 
latures, and  that  in  Opelousas  and  Attakapas  they 
are  as  wild  as  their  cattle  about  it " 

"  We  'ad  two  big  mitting'  about  it,"  interrupted 
Raoul ;  "  my  bro'r-in-law  speak  at  both  of  them  !  " 

"Who?" 

"  Chahlie  Mandarin." 

"Glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Doctor  Keene, —  which 
was  the  truth.  "  Besides  that,  I  know  Laussat  has 
gone  to  Martinique  ;  that  the  Americains  have  a 
newspaper,  and  that  cotton  is  two-bits  a  pound. 
Now  what  I  want  to  know  is,  how  are  my  friends  ? 
What  has  Honore  done?  What  has  Frowenfeld 
done  ?  And  Palmyre, —  and  Agricole  ?  They 
hustled     me    away    from    here  as   if    I    had    been 


The  News  401 

caught  trying  to  cut  my  throat.     Tell  me    every- 
thing." 

And  Raoul  sank  the  artist  and  bridegroom  in  the 
historian,  and  told  him. 


CHAPTER    XLVII 

THE    NEWS 

"  My  cousin  Honore, —  well,  you  kin  jus'  say  'e 
bitray'  'is  'ole  fam'ly." 

"  How  so  ?  "  asked  Doctor  Keene,  with  a  hand- 
kerchief over  his  face  to  shield  his  eyes  from  the  sun. 

"Well, —  ce't'nly  'e  did!  Di'n'  'e  gave  dat 
money  to  Aurora  De  Grapion  ?  —  one  'undred  five 
t'ousan'  dolla'  ?  Jis'  as  if  to  say,  c  Yeh  's  de  money 
my  h-uncle  stole  from  you'  'usban'.'  Hah  !  w'en  I 
will  swear  on  a  stack  of  Bible'  as  'igh  as  yo'  head, 
dat  Agricole  win  dat  'abitation  fair  !  —  If  I  see  it  ? 
No,  sir ;  I  don't  'ave  to  see  it !  I  '11  swear  to  it  ! 
Hah!" 

"  And  have  she  and  her  daughter  actually  got 
the  money  ?  " 

"  She  —  an' —  heh  —  daughtah  —  ac  —  shilly  — 
got-'at-money-sir  !  Wat  ?  Dey  livin'  in  de  rue 
Royale  in  mag-w/^ycen'  style  on  top  de  drug-sto'  of 
Proffis-or  Frowenfel'." 

"  But  how,  over  Frowenfeld's,  when  Frowenfeld's 
is  a  one-story " 

"  My  dear  frien'  !  Proffis-or  Frowenfel'  is  moove  ! 
26 


402  The  Grandissimes 

You  rickleck  dat  big  new  t'ree-story  buildin'  w'at 
jus*  finished  in  de  rue  Royale,  a  lill  mo'  farther  up 
town  from  his  old  shop  ?  Well,  we  open  dare  a 
big  std !  An'  listen  !  You  think  Honore  di'n' 
bitrayed'  'is  family  ?  Madame  Nancanou  an'  heh 
daughtah  livin'  upstair  an'  rissy-ving  de  finess 
soci'ty  in  de  Province!  —  an'  me?  —  downstair' 
meckin'  pill  !     You  call  dat  justice  ?  " 

But  Doctor  Keene,  without  waiting  for  this  ques- 
tion, had  asked  one : 

"  Does  Frowenfeld  board  with  them  ?  " 

"  Psh-sh-sh  !  Board  !  Dey  woon  board  de 
Marquis  of  Casa  Calvo  !  I  don't  b'lieve  dey 
would  board  Honore  Grandissime  !  All  de  king' 
an'  queen'  in  de  worF  couldn'  board  dare  !  No, 
sir!  —  'Owever,  you  know,  I  think  dey  are  splendid 
ladies.  Me  an'  my  wife,  we  know  them  well.  An' 
Honore  —  I  think  my  cousin  Honore 's  a  splendid 
gen'leman,  too."  After  a  moment's  pause  he  re- 
sumed, with  a  happy  sigh,  "  Well,  I  don'  care,  I  'm 
married.     A  man  w'at 's  married,  'e  don'  care. 

"  But  I  di'n'  t'ink  Honore  could  ever  do  lak  dat 
odder  Ping." 

"Do  he  and  Joe  Frowenfeld  visit  there?" 

"  Doctah  Keene,"  demanded  Raoul,  ignoring  the 
question,  "  I  hask  you  now,  plain,  don'  you  find 
dat  mighty  disgressful  to  do  dat  way,  lak  Honore  ?  " 

"  What  way  ?  " 

"  W'at  ?  You  dunno  ?  You  don'  yeh  'ow  'e 
gone  partner'  wid  a  nigga  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 


Indignant  Family  and  a  Smashed  Shop     403 

Doctor  Keene  drew  the  handkerchief  off  his  face 
and  half  lifted  his  feeble  head. 

"  Yesseh  !  'e  gone  partner'  wid  dat  quadroon  w'at 
call  'imself  Honore  Grandissime,  seh  !  " 

The  doctor  dropped  his  head  again  and  laid  the 
handkerchief  back  on  his  face. 

"  What  do  the  family  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  But  w'at  can  dey  say  ?  It  save  dem  from  ruin  ! 
At  de  sem  time,  me,  I  think  it  is  a  disgress.  Not 
dat  he  h-use  de  money,  but  it  is  dat  name  w'at 
'e  give  de  h-establishmen'  —  Grandissime  Freres  ! 
H-only  for  'is  money  we  would  'ave  catch'  dat 
quadroon  gen'leman  an'  put  some  tar  and  fedder. 
Grandissime  Freres  !  Agricole  don'  spik  to  my 
cousin  Honore  no  mo'.  But  I  t'ink  dass  wrong. 
W'at  you  t'ink,  Doctah  ?  " 

That  evening,  at  candle-light,  Raoul  got  the 
right  arm  of  his  slender,  laughing  wife  about  his 
neck;  but  Doctor  Keene  tarried  all  night  in  suburb 
St.  Jean.  He  hardly  felt  the  moral  courage  to  face 
the  results  of  the  last  five  months.  Let  us  under- 
stand them  better  ourselves. 


CHAPTER   XLVIII 

AN     INDIGNANT    FAMILY    AND     A    SMASHED     SHOP 

It  was  indeed  a  fierce  storm  that  had  passed  over 
the  head  of  Honore  Grandissime.  Taken  up  and 
carried  by  it,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  without  volition, 


404  The  Grandissimes 

he  had  felt  himself  thrown  here  and  thert,  wrenched, 
torn,  gasping  for  moral  breath,  speaking  the  right 
word  as  if  in  delirium,  doing  the  right  deed  as  if  by 
helpless  instinct,  and  seeing  himself  in  every  case, 
at  every  turn,  tricked  by  circumstance  out  of  every 
vestige  of  merit.  So  it  seemed  to  him.  The  long 
contemplated  restitution  was  accomplished.  On 
the  morning  when  Aurora  and  Clotilde  had  expected 
to  be  turned  shelterless  into  the  open  air,  they  had 
called  upon  him  in  his  private  office  and  presented 
the  account  of  which  he  had  put  them  in  possession 
the  evening  before.  He  had  honored  it  on  the 
spot.  To  the  two  ladies  who  felt  their  own  hearts 
stirred  almost  to  tears  of  gratitude,  he  was  —  as  he 
sat  before  them  calm,  unmoved,  handling  keen- 
edged  facts  with  the  easy  rapidity  of  one  accustomed 
to  use  them,  smiling  courteously  and  collectedly, 
parrying  their  expressions  of  appreciation  —  to 
them,  we  say,  at  least  to  one  of  them,  he  was  "  the 
prince  of  gentlemen."  But,  at  the  same  time, 
there  was  within  him,  unseen,  a  surge  of  emotions, 
leaping,  lashing,  whirling,  yet  ever  hurrying  onward 
along  the  hidden,  rugged  bed  of  his  honest  in- 
tention. 

The  other  restitution,  which  even  twenty-four 
hours  earlier  might  have  seemed  a  pure  self-sacrifice, 
became  a  self-rescue.  The  f.  m.  c.  was  the  elder 
brother.  A  remark  of  Honore  made  the  night 
they  watched  in  the  corridor  by  Doctor  Keene's 
door,  about  the  younger's  "  right  to  exist,"  was  but 
the  echo  of  a  conversation  they  had  once  had  to- 


Indignant  Family  and  a  Smashed  Shop      405 

gether  in  Europe.  There  they  had  practised  a 
familiarity  of  intercourse  which  Louisiana  would 
not  have  endured,  and  once,  when  speaking  upon 
the  subject  of  their  common  fatherhood,  the  f.  m.  c, 
prone  to  melancholy  speech,  had  said  : 

"  You  are  the  lawful  son  of  Numa  Grandissime ; 
I  had  no  right  to  be  born." 

But  Honore  quickly  answered: 

"  By  the  laws  of  men,  it  may  be ;  but  by  the  law 
of  God's  justice,  you  are  the  lawful  son,  and  it  is  I 
who  should  not  have  been  born." 

But,  returned  to  Louisiana,  accepting  with  the 
amiable,  old-fashioned  philosophy  of  conservatism 
the  sins  of  the  community,  he  had  forgotten  the 
unchampioned  rights  of  his  passive  half-brother. 
Contact  with  Frowenfeld  had  robbed  him  of  his 
pleasant  mental  drowsiness,  and  the  oft-encountered 
apparition  of  the  dark  sharer  of  his  name  had 
become  a  slow-stepping,  silent  embodiment  of  re- 
proach. The  turn  of  events  had  brought  him  face 
to  face  with  the  problem  of  restitution,  and  he  had 
solved  it.  But  where  had  he  come  out  ?  He  had 
come  out  the  beneficiary  of  this  restitution,  extri- 
cated from  bankruptcy  by  an  agreement  which  gave 
the  f.  m.  c.  only  a  public  recognition  of  kinship 
which  had  always  been  his  due.  Bitter  cup  of 
humiliation  ! 

Such  was  the  stress  within.  Then  there  was  the 
storm  without.  The  Grandissimes  were  in  a  high 
state  of  excitement.  The  news  had  reached  them 
all  that   Honore  had  met  the  question  of  titles   by 


406  The  GrarMissimes 

selling  one  of  their  largest  estates.  It  was  received 
with  wincing  frowns,  indrawn  breath,  and  lifted  feet, 
but  without  protest,  and  presently  with  a  smile  of 
returning  confidence. 

"Honore  knew;  Honore  was  informed;  they 
had  all  authorized  Honore  ;  and  Honore,  though 
he  might  have  his  odd  ways  and  notions,  picked  up 
during  that  unfortunate  stay  abroad,  might  safely  be 
trusted  to  stand  by  the  interests  of  his  people." 

After  the  first  shock  some  of  them  even  raised  a 
laugh  : 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Honore  would  show  those  Yan- 
kees ! " 

They  went  to  his  counting-room  and  elsewhere, 
in  search  of  him,  to  smite  their  hands  into  the 
hands  of  their  far-seeing  young  champion.  But,  as 
we  have  seen,  they  did  not  find  him  ;  none  dreamed 
of  looking  for  him  in  an  enemy's  camp  (19  Bien- 
ville) or  on  the  lonely  suburban  commons,  talking 
to  himself  in  the  ghostly  twilight;  and  the  next 
morning,  while  Aurora  and  Clotilde  were  seated 
before  him  in  his  private  office,  looking  first  at  the 
face  and  then  at  the  back  of  two  mighty  drafts  of 
equal  amount  on  Philadelphia,  the  cry  of  treason 
flew  forth  to  these  astounded  Grandissimes,  followed 
by  the  word  that  the  sacred  fire  was  gone  out 
in  the  Grandissime  temple  (counting-room),  that 
Delilahs  in  duplicate  were  carrying  off  the  holy 
treasures,  and  that  the  uncircumcised  and  unclean 
—  even  an  f.  m.  c. —  was  about  to  be  inducted  into 
the  Grandissime  priesthood. 


Indignant  Family  and  a  Smashed  Shop     407 

Aurora  and  Clotilde  were  still  there,  when  the 
various  members  of  the  family  began  to  arrive  and 
display  their  outlines  in  impatient  shadow-play  upon 
the  glass  door  of  the  private  office  ;  now  one,  and 
now  another,  dallied  with  the  doorknob  and  by 
and  by  obtruded  their  lifted  hats  and  urgent, 
anxious  faces  half  into  the  apartment ;  but  Honore 
would  only  glance  toward  them,  and  with  a  smile 
equally  courteous,  authoritative  and  fleeting,  say  : 

"  Good-morning,  Camille  "  (or  Charlie  —  or  Aga- 
memnon, as  the  case  might  be);  "I  will  see  you 
later ;  let  me  trouble   you   to  close  the   door." 

To  add  yet  another  strain,  the  two  ladies,  like 
frightened,  rescued  children,  would  cling  to  their 
deliverer.  They  wished  him  to  become  the  cus- 
todian and  investor  of  their  wealth.  Ah,  woman  ! 
who  is  a  tempter  like  thee  ?  But  Honore  said  no, 
and  showed  them  the  danger  of  such  a  course. 

"  Suppose  I  should  die  suddenly.  You  might 
have  trouble  with  my  executors." 

The  two  beauties  assented  pensively ;  but  in 
Aurora's  bosom  a  great  throb  secretly  responded 
that  as  for  her,  in  that  case,  she  should  have  no 
use  for  money  —  in  a  nunnery. 

"  Would  not  Monsieur  at  least  consent  to  be 
their  financial  adviser  ?  " 

He  hemmed,  commenced  a  sentence  twice,  and 
finally  said  : 

"  You  will  need  an  agent;  some  one  to  take  full 
charge  of  your  affairs ;  some  person  on  whose  sagacity 
and  integrity  you  can  place  the  fullest  dependence." 


408  The  Grandissimes 

"  Who,  for  instance  ?  "  asked  Aurora. 

"  I  should  say,  without  hesitation,  Professor 
Frowenfeld,  the  apothecary.  You  know  his  trouble 
of  yesterday  is  quite  cleared  up.  You  had  not 
heard  ?  Yes.  He  is  not  what  we  call  an  enter- 
prising man,  but  —  so  much  the  better.  Take  him 
all  in  all,  I  would  choose  him  above  all  others  ; 
if  you " 

Aurora  interrupted  him.  There  was  an  ill-con- 
cealed wildness  in  her  eye  and  a  slight  tremor  in 
her  voice,  as  she  spoke,  which  she  had  not  expected 
to  betray.  The  quick,  though  quiet  eye  of  Honore 
Grandissime  saw  it,  and  it  thrilled  him  through. 

"'Sieur  Grandissime,  I  take  the  risk  ;  I  wish  you 
to  take  care  of  my  money." 

"  But,  Maman,"  said  Clotilde,  turning  with  a 
timid  look  to  her  mother,  "  If  Monsieur  Grandis- 
sime would  rather  not " 

Aurora,  feeling  alarmed  at  what  she  had  said,  rose 
up.  Clotilde  and  Honore  did  the  same,  and  he 
said  : 

"  With  Professor  Frowenfeld  in  charge  of  your 
affairs,  I  shall  feel  them  not  entirely  removed  from 
my  care  also.     We  are  very  good  friends." 

Clotilde  looked  at  her  mother.  The  three  ex- 
changed glances.  The  ladies  signified  their  assent 
and  turned  to  go,  but  M.  Grandissime  stopped 
them. 

"  By  your  leave,  I  will  send  for  him.  If  you 
will  be  seated  again " 

Thev  thanked  him  and  resumed  their  seats  ;  he 


Indignant  Family  and  a  Smashed  Shop     409 

excused  himself,  passed  into  the  counting-room,  and 
sent  a  messenger  tor  the  apothecary. 

M.  Grandissime's  meeting  with  his  kinsmen  was 
a  stormy  one.  Aurora  and  Clotilde  heard  the  strife 
begin,  increase,  subside,  rise  again  and  decrease. 
They  heard  men  stride  heavily  to  and  fro,  they 
heard  hands  smite  together,  palms  fall  upon  tables 
and  fists  upon  desks,  heard  half-understood  state- 
ment and  unintelligible  counter-statement  and 
derisive  laughter ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  all,  like 
the  voice  of  a  man  who  rules  himself,  the  clear- 
noted,  unimpassioned  speech  of  Honore,  sound- 
ing so  loftily  beautiful  in  the  ear  of  Aurora  that 
when  Clotilde  looked  at  her,  sitting  motionless 
with  her  rapt  eyes  lifted  up,  those  eyes  came  down 
to  her  own  with  a  sparkle  of  enthusiasm,  and  she 
softly  said  : 

"It  sounds  like  St.  Gabriel !  "   and  then  blushed. 

Clotilde  answered  with  a  happy,  meaning  look, 
which  intensified  the  blush,  and  then  leaning  affec- 
tionately forward  and  holding  the  maman's  eyes 
with  her  own,  she  said  : 

"  You  have  my  consent." 

"  Saucy  !  "  said  Aurora.  "  Wait  till  I  get  my 
own." 

Some  of  his  kinsmen  Honore  pacified ;  some  he 
silenced.  He  invited  all  to  withdraw  their  lands 
and  moneys  from  his  charge,  and  some  accepted  the 
invitation.  They  spurned  his  parting  advice  to  sell, 
and  the  policy  they  then  adopted,  and  never  after- 
ward  modified,  was   that  "  all   or  notbing  "  attitude 


41  o  The  Grandissimes 

which,  as  years  rolled  by,  bled  them  to  penury  in 
those  famous  cupping-leeching-and-bleeding  estab- 
lishments, the  courts  of  Louisiana.  You  may  see 
their  grandchildren,  to-day,  anywhere  within  the 
angle  of  the  old  rues  Esplanade  and  Rampart, 
holding  up  their  heads  in  unspeakable  poverty,  their 
nobility  kept  green  by  unflinching  self-respect,  and 
their  poetic  and  pathetic  pride  revelling  in  ances- 
tral, perennial   rebellion  against  common  sense. 

"  That  is  Agricola,"  whispered  Aurora,  with  lifted 
head  and  eyes  dilated  and  askance,  as  one  deep- 
chested  voice  roared  above  all  others. 

Agricola  stormed. 

"  Uncle,"  Aurora  by  and  by  heard  Honore  say, 
"shall  I  leave  my  own  counting-room  ?  " 

At  that  moment  Joseph  Frowenfeld  entered, 
pausing  with  one  hand  on  the  outer  rail.  No  one 
noticed  him  but  Honore,  who  was  watching  for 
him,  and  who,  by  a  silent  motion,  directed  him  into 
the  private  office. 

"  H-whe  shake  its  dust  from  our  feet  !  "  said  Agri- 
cola, gathering  some  young  retainers  by  a  sweep 
of  his  glance  and  going  out  down  the  stair  in  the 
arched  way,  unmoved  by  the  fragrance  of  warm  bread. 
On  the  banquette  he  harangued  his  followers. 

He  said  that  in  such  times  as  these  every  lover 
of  liberty  should  go  armed;  that  the  age  of  trickery 
had  come ;  that  by  trickery  Louisianians  had  been 
sold,  like  cattle,  to  a  nation  of  parvenues,  to  be 
dragged  before  juries  for  asserting  the  human  right 
of  free  trade  or  ridding  the  earth  of  sneaks  in  the 


Indignant  Family  and  a  Smashed  Shop     411 

pay  of  the  government ;  that  laws,  so-called,  had 
been  forged  into  thumbscrews,  and  a  Congress 
which  had  bound  itself  to  give  them  all  the  rights 
of  American  citizens  —  sorry  boon  ! — was  prepar- 
ing to  slip  their  birthright  acres  from  under  their 
feet,  and  leave  them  hanging,  a  bait  to  the  vultures 
of  the  Americain  immigration.  Yes  ;  the  age  of 
trickery  !  Its  apostles,  he  said,  were  even  then  at 
work  among  their  fellow-citizens,  warping,  distort- 
ing, blasting,  corrupting,  poisoning  the  noble,  un- 
suspecting, confiding  Creole  mind.  For  months 
the  devilish  work  had  been  allowed,  by  a  patient, 
peace-loving  people,  to  go  on.  But  shall  it  go  on 
forever  ?  (Cries  of  "  No  !  "  "  No  !  ")  The  smell 
of  white  blood  comes  on  the  south  breeze.  Des- 
salines  and  Christophe  had  recommenced  their 
hellish  work.  Virginia,  too,  trembles  for  the  safety 
of  her  fair  mothers  and  daughters.  We  know  not 
what  is  being  plotted  in  the  canebrakes  of  Louisi- 
ana. But  we  know  that  in  the  face  of  these  things 
the  prelates  of  trickery  are  sitting  in  Washington 
allowing  throats  to  go  unthrottled  that  talked  ten- 
derly about  the  "  negro  slave  ;  "  we  know  worse  : 
we  know  that  mixed  blood  has  asked  for  equal 
rights  from  a  son  of  the  Louisiana  noblesse,  and 
that  those  sacred  rights  have  been  treacherously, 
pusillanimously  surrendered  into  its  possession. 
Why  did  we  not  rise  yesterday,  when  the  public 
heart  was  stirred  ?  The  forbearance  of  this  people 
would  be  absurd  if  it  were  not  saintly.  But  the 
time  has  come  when  Louisiana  must  protect  her- 


412  The  Grandissimes 

self!  If  there  is  one  here  who  will  not  strike 
for  his  lands,  his  rights  and  the  purity  of  his  race, 
let  him  speak  !  (Cries  of  "  We  will  rise  now ! " 
"  Give  us  a  leader  !  "     "  Lead  the  way  !  ") 

"  Kinsmen,  friends,"  continued  Agricola,  "  meet 
me  at  nightfall  before  the  house  of  this  too-long- 
spared  mulatto.  Come  armed.  Bring  a  few  feet 
of  stout  rope.  By  morning  the  gentlemen  of  color 
will  know  their  places  better  than  they  do  to-day  ; 
h-whe  shall  understand  each  other  !  H-whe  shall 
set  the  negrophiles  to  meditating." 

He  waved  them  away. 

With  a  huzza  the  accumulated  crowd  moved  off. 
Chance  carried  them  up  the  rue  Royale ;  they  sang 
a  song;  they  came  to  Frowenfeld's.  It  was  an 
Americain  establishment;  that  was  against  it.  It 
was  a  gossiping  place  of  Americain  evening  loungers; 
that  was  against  it.  It  was  a  sorcerer's  den  —  (we 
are  on  an  ascending  scale) ;  its  proprietor  had  re- 
fused employment  to  some  there  present,  had 
refused  credit  to  others,  was  an  impudent  con- 
demner  of  the  most  approved  Creole  sins,  had  been 
beaten  over  the  head  only  the  day  before ;  all  these 
were  against  it.  But,  worse  still,  the  building  was 
owned  by  the  f.  m.  c,  and  unluckiest  of  all,  Raoul 
stood  in  the  door  and  some  of  his  kinsmen  in  the 
crowd  stopped  to  have  a  word  with  him.  The 
crowd  stopped.  A  nameless  fellow  in  the  throng 
—  he  was  still  singing  —  said:  "  Here's  the  place," 
and  dropped  two  bricks  through  the  glass  of  the 
show-window.       Raoul,    with    a    cry    of  retaliative 


Indignant  Family  and  a  Smashed  Shop     413 

rage,  drew  and  lifted  a  pistol ;  but  a  kinsman  jerked 
it  from  him  and  three  others  quickly  pinioned  him 
and  bore  him  off  struggling,  pleased  to  get  him 
away  unhurt.  In  ten  minutes,  Frowenfeld's  was  a 
broken-windowed,  open-doored  house,  full  of  un- 
recognizable rubbish  that  had  escaped  the  torch 
only  through  a  chance  rumor  that  the  Governor's 
police  were  coming,  and  the  consequent  stampede 
of  the  mob. 

Joseph  was  sitting  in  M.  Grandissime's  private 
office,  in  council  with  him  and  the  ladies,  and 
Aurora  was  just  saying : 

"  Well,  anny'ow,  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  ad  laz  you 
consen'  !  "  and  gathering  her  veil  from  her  lap,  when 
Raoul  burst  in,  all  sweat  and  rage. 

"  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  we  ruin'  !  Ow  pharmacie 
knock  all  in  pieces  !      My  pig-shoe  is  los'  ! " 

He  dropped  into  a  chair  and  burst  into  tears. 

Shall  we  never  learn  to  withhold  our  tears  until 
we  are  sure  of  our  trouble?  Raoul  little  knew  the 
joy  in  store  for  him.  'Polyte,  it  transpired  the  next 
day,  had  rushed  in  after  the  first  volley  of  missiles, 
and  while  others  were  gleefully  making  off  with  jars 
of  asafaetida  and  decanters  of  distilled  water,  lifted 
in  his  arms  and  bore  away  unharmed  "  Louisiana" 
firmly  refusing  to  the  last  to  enter  the  Union.  It 
may  not  be  premature  to  add  that  about  four  weeks 
later  Honore  Grandissime,  upon  Raoul's  announce- 
ment that  he  was  "  betrothed,"  purchased  this 
painting  and  presented  it  to  a  club  of  natural  con- 
noisseurs. 


414  The  Grandissimes 


CHAPTER   XLIX 

OVER    THE    NEW    STORE 

The  accident  of  the  ladies  Nancanou  making 
their  new  home  over  Frowenfeld's  drug-store  oc- 
curred in  the  following  rather  amusing  way.  It 
chanced  that  the  building  was  about  completed  at 
the  time  that  the  apothecary's  stock  in  trade  was 
destroyed ;  Frowenfeld  leased  the  lower  floor. 
Honore  Grandissime  f.  m.  c.  was  the  owner.  He 
being  concealed  from  his  enemies,  Joseph  treated 
with  that  person's  inadequately  remunerated  em- 
ploye. In  those  days,  as  still  in  the  old  French 
Quarter,  it  was  not  uncommon  for  persons,  even  of 
wealth,  to  make  their  homes  over  stores,  and  build- 
ings were  constructed  with  a  view  to  their  partition 
in  this  way.  Hence,  in  Chartres  and  Decatur 
streets,  to-day  —  and  in  the  cross-streets  between  — 
so  many  store-buildings  with  balconies,  dormer  win- 
dows, and  sometimes  even  belvideres.  This  new 
building  caught  the  eye  and  fancy  of  Aurora  and 
Clotilde.  The  apartments  for  the  store  were  entirely 
isolated.  Through  a  large  porte-cochere,  opening 
upon  the  banquette  immediately  beside  and  abreast 
of  the  store-front,  one  entered  a  high,  covered  car- 
riage-way with  a  tessellated  pavement  and  green 
plastered  walls,  and  reached, — just  where  this  way 
(corridor,  the  Creoles  always  called  it)  opened  into  a 
sunny  court  surrounded  with  narrow  parterres,  —  a 


Over  the  New  Store  415 

broad  stairway  leading  to  a  hall  over  the  "  corridor  " 
and  to  the  drawing-rooms  over  the  store.  They 
liked  it !  Aurora  would  find  out  at  once  what  sort 
of  an  establishment  was  likely  to  be  opened  below, 
and  if  that  proved  unexceptionable  she  would  lease 
the  upper  part  without  more  ado. 

Next  day  she  said  : 

"  Clotilde,  thou  beautiful,  I  have  signed  the 
lease  !  " 

"  Then  the  store  below  is  to  be  occupied  by  a  — 
what  ?  " 

"  Guess ! " 

"  Ah  !  " 

"  Guess  a  pharmacien  !  " 

Clotilde' s  lips  parted,  she  was  going  to  smile, 
when  her  thought  changed  and  she  blushed  ofTend- 
edly. 

"Not " 

"  'Sieur    Frowenf ah,  ha,   ha,  ha  !  — ha,  ha, 

ha  !  " 

Clotilde  burst  into  tears. 

Still  they  moved  in  —  it  was  written  in  the  bond  ; 
and  so  did  the  apothecary  ;  and  probably  two  sen- 
sible young  lovers  never  before  nor  since  behaved 
with  such  abject  fear  of  each  other  —  for  a  time. 
Later,  and  after  much  oft-repeated  good  advice 
given  to  each  separately  and  to  both  together, 
Honore  Grandissime  persuaded  them  that  Clotilde 
could  make  excellent  use  of  a  portion  of  her  means 
by  reenforcing  Frowenfeld's  very  slender  stock  and 
well  filling   his  rather  empty-looking  store,  and   so 


41 6  The  Grandissimes 

they  signed  regular  articles  of  copartnership,  blush- 
ing frightfully. 

Frowenfeld  became  a  visitor,  Honore  not;  once 
Honore  had  seen  the  ladies'  moneys  satisfactorily 
invested,  he  kept  aloof.  It  is  pleasant  here  to 
remark  that  neither  Aurora  nor  Clotilde  made  any 
waste  of  their  sudden  acquisitions ;  they  furnished 
their  rooms  with  much  beauty  at  moderate  cost,  and 
their  salon  with  artistic,  not  extravagant,  elegance, 
and,  for  the  sake  of  greater  propriety,  employed  a 
decayed  lady  as  housekeeper ;  but,  being  discreet  in 
all  other  directions,  they  agreed  upon  one  bold  out- 
lay —  a  volante. 

Almost  any  afternoon  you  might  have  seen  this 
vehicle  on  the  Terre  aux  Bceuf,  or  Bayou,  or 
Tchoupitoulas  Road  ;  and  because  of  the  brilliant 
beauty  of  its  occupants  it  became  known  from  all 
other  volantes  as  the  "  meteor." 

Frowenfeld's  visits  were  not  infrequent ;  he 
insisted  on  Clotilde's  knowing  just  what  was  being 
done  with  her  money.  Without  indulging  our- 
selves in  the  pleasure  of  contemplating  his  con- 
tinued mental  unfolding,  we  may  say  that  his  growth 
became  more  rapid  in  this  season  of  universal  expan- 
sion ;  love  had  entered  into  his  still  compacted  soul 
like  a  cupid  into  a  rose,  and  was  crowding  it  wide 
open.  However,  as  yet,  it  had  not  made  him 
brave.  Aurora  used  to  slip  out  of  the  drawing- 
room,  and  in  some  secluded  nook  of  the  hall  throw 
up  her  clasped  hands  and  go  through  all  the 
motions   of  screaming  merriment. 


Over  the  New  Store  417 

"  The  little  fool !  " — it  was  of  her  own  daughter 
she  whispered  this  complimentary  remark  —  "  the 
little  fool  is  afraid  of  the  fish  !  " 

"  You  !  "  she  said  to  Clotilde,  one  evening  after 
Joseph  had  gone,  "  you  call  yourself  a  Creole 
girl  !  " 

But  she  expected  too  much.  Nothing  so  terror- 
izes a  blushing  girl  as  a  blushing  man.  And  then 
—  though  they  did  sometimes  digress —  Clotilde 
and  her  partner  met  to  talk  "  business  "  in  a  purely 
literal  sense. 

Aurora,  after  a  time,  had  taken  her  money  into 
her  own  keeping. 

"  You  mighd  gid  robb'  ag'in,  you  know,  'Sieur 
Frowenfel',''  she  said. 

But  when  he  mentioned  Clotilde's  fortune  as 
subject  to  the  same   contingency,  Aurora   replied  : 

"  Ah  !  bud  Clotilde  mighd  gid  robb'  !  " 

But  for  all  the  exuberance  of  Aurora's  spirits, 
there  was  a  cloud  in  her  sky.  Indeed,  we  know  it 
is  only  when  clouds  are  in  the  sky  that  we  get  the 
rosiest  tints ;  and  so  it  was  with  Aurora.  One 
night,  when  she  had  heard  the  wicket  in  the  porte- 
cochere  shut  behind  three  evening  callers,  one  of 
whom  she  had  rejected  a  week  before,  another  of 
whom  she  expected  to  dispose  of  similarly,  and 
the  last  of  whom  was  Joseph  Frowenfeld,  she  began 
such  a  merry  raillery  at  Clotilde  and  such  a  hilarious 
ridicule  of  the  "  Professor "  that  Clotilde  would 
have  wept  again  had  not  Aurora,  all  at  once,  in 
the  midst  of  a  laugh,  dropped  her  face  in  her 
27 


41 8  The  Grandissimes 

hands  and  run  from  the  room  in  tears.  It  is  one  of 
the  penalties  we  pay  for  being  joyous,  that  nobody 
thinks  us  capable  of  care  or  the  victim  of  trouble 
until,  in  some  moment  of  extraordinary  expansion, 
our  bubble  of  gayety  bursts.  Aurora  had  been 
crying  of  nights.  Even  that  same  night,  Clotilde 
awoke,  opened  her  eyes  and  beheld  her  mother 
risen  from  the  pillow  and  sitting  upright  in  the  bed 
beside  her ;  the  moon,  shining  brightly  through 
the  mosquito-bar  revealed  with  distinctness  her 
head  slightly  drooped,  her  face  again  in  her  hands 
and  the  dark  folds  of  her  hair  falling  about  her 
shoulders,  half-concealing  the  richly  embroidered 
bosom  of  her  snowy  gown,  and  coiling  in  continu- 
ous abundance  about  her  waist  and  on  the  slight 
summer  covering  of  the  bed.  Before  her  on 
the  sheet  lay  a  white  paper.  Clotilde  did  not  try 
to  decipher  the  writing  on  it ;  she  knew,  at  sight, 
the  slip  that  had  fallen  from  the  statement  of 
account  on  the  evening  of  the  ninth  of  March. 
Aurora  withdrew  her  hands  from  her  face  —  Clotilde 
shut  her  eyes ;  she  heard  Aurora  put  the  paper  in 
her  bosom. 

"  Clotilde,"  she  said,  very  softly. 

"  Maman,"  the  daughter  replied,  opening  her 
eyes,  reached  up  her  arms  and  drew  the  dear  head 
down. 

"  Clotilde,  once  upon  a  time  I  woke  this  way, 
and,  while  you  were  asleep,  left  the  bed  and  made 
a  vow  to  Monsieur  Danny.  Oh  !  it  was  a  sin  ! 
but   I   cannot  do  those  things   now ;   I    have   been 


A  Proposal  of  Marriage  419 

frightened  ever  since.  I  shall  never  do  so  any 
more.  I  shall  never  commit  another  sin  as  long 
as   I   live  !  " 

Their  lips  met  fervently. 

"  My  sweet  sweet,"  whispered  Clotilde,  "  you 
looked  so  beautiful  sitting  up  with  the  moonlight 
all  around  you  !  " 

"  Clotilde,  my  beautiful  daughter,"  said  Aurora, 
pushing  her  bedmate  from  her  and  pretending  to 
repress  a  smile,  "  I  tell  you  now,  because  you  don't 
know,  and  it  is  my  duty  as  your  mother  to  tell 
you  —  the  meanest  wickedness  a  woman  can  do  in 
all  this  bad,  bad  world  is  to  look  ugly  in  bed  !  " 

Clotilde  answered  nothing,  and  Aurora  dropped 
her  outstretched  arms,  turned  away  with  an  involun- 
tary, tremulous  sigh,  and  after  two  or  three  hours 
of  patient  wakefulness,  fell  asleep. 

But  at  daybreak  next  morning,  he  that  wrote  the 
paper  had  not  closed  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  L 

A    PROPOSAL    OF    MARRIAGE 

There  was  always  some  flutter  among  Frowen- 
feld's  employes  when  he  was  asked  for,  and  this 
time  it  was  the  more  pronounced  because  he  was 
sought  by  a  housemaid  from  the  upper  floor.  It 
was  hard  for  these  two  or  three  young  Ariels  to 
keep  their  Creole  feet  to  the  ground  when  it  was 


420  The  Grandissimes 

presently  revealed  to  their  sharp  ears  that  the  "prof- 
fis-or  "  was  requested  to  come  upstairs. 

The  new  store  was  an  extremely  neat,  bright,  and 
well-ordered  establishment ;  yet  to  ascend  into  the 
drawing-rooms  seemed  to  the  apothecary  like  going 
from  the  hold  of  one  of  those  smart  old  packet- 
ships  of  his  day  into  the  cabin.  Aurora  came  for- 
ward, with  the  slippers  of  a  Cinderella  twinkling  at 
the  edge  of  her  robe.  It  seemed  unfit  that  the 
floor  under  them  should  not  be  clouds. 

"  Proffis-or  Frowenfel',  good-day  !  Teg  a  cha'." 
She  laughed.  It  was  the  pure  joy  of  existence. 
"  You  's  well  ?  You  lookin'  verrie  well  !  H always 
bizzie  ?  You  fine  dad  agriz  wid  you'  healt',  'Sieur 
Frowenfel'  ?  Yes  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  She  suddenly 
leaned  toward  him  across  the  arm  of  her  chair,  with 
an  earnest  face.  "  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  Palmyre  wand 
see  you.  You  don'  wan'  come  ad  'er  'ouse,  eh  ?  — 
an'  you  don'  wan'  her  to  come  ad  yo'  bureau.  You 
know,  'Sieur  Frowenfel',  she  drez  the  hair  of  Clo- 
tilde  an'  mieself.  So  w'en  she  tell  me  dad,  I  juz 
say,  '  Palmyre,  I  will  sen'  for  Proffis-or  Frowenfel' 
to  come  yeh  ;  but  I  don'  thing  'e  comin'.  '  You 
know,  I  din'  wan'  you  to  'ave  dad  troub';  but  Clotilde 
—  ha,  ha,  ha  !  Clotilde  is  sudge  a  foolish  —  she 
nevva  thing  of  dad  troub'  to  you  —  she  say  she 
thing  you  was  too  kine-'arted  to  call  dad  troub'  — 
ha,  ha,  ha  !   So  anny'ow  we  sen'  for  you,  eh  !  " 

Frowenfeld  said  he  was  glad  they  had  done  so, 
whereupon  Aurora  rose  lightly,  saying  : 

"  I    go    an'    sen'    her."     She    started    away,  but 


A  Proposal  of  Marriage  421 

turned  back  to  add :  "  You  know,  'Sieur  Frowen- 
fel',  she  say  she  cann'  truz  nobody  bud  y'u."  She 
ended  with  a  low,  melodious  laugh,  bending  her 
joyous  eyes  upon  the  apothecary  with  her  head 
dropped  to  one  side  in  a  way  to  move  a  heart  of 
flint. 

She  turned  and  passed  through  a  door,  and  by 
the  same  way  Palmyre  entered.  The  philosophe 
came  forward  noiselessly  and  with  a  subdued  expres- 
sion, different  from  any  Frowenfeld  had  ever  before 
seen.  At  the  first  sight  of  her  a  thrill  of  disrelish 
ran  through  him  of  which  he  was  instantly  ashamed  ; 
as  she  came  nearer  he  met  her  with  a  deferential 
bow  and  the  silent  tender  of  a  chair.  She  sat 
down,  and,  after  a  moment's  pause,  handed  him  a 
sealed  letter. 

He  turned  it  over  twice,  recognized  the  hand- 
writing, felt  the  disrelish  return,  and  said  : 

"  This  is  addressed  to  yourself." 

She  bowed. 

"  Do  you  know  who  wrote  it?"  he  asked. 

She  bowed  again. 

"  Oui,  Mich'e." 

"  You  wish  me  to  open  it  ?  I  cannot  read 
French." 

She  seemed  to  have  some  explanation  to  offer, 
but  could  not  command  the  necessary  English ; 
however,  with  the  aid  of  Frowenfeld's  limited 
guessing  powers,  she  made  him  understand  that 
the  bearer  of  the  letter  to  her  had  brought  word 
from  the  writer  that  it  was  written  in  English  pur- 


422  The  Grandissimes 

posely  that  M.  Frowenfeld  —  the  only  person  he 
was  willing  should  see  it —  might  read  it.  Frowen- 
feld broke  the  seal  and  ran  his  eye  over  the  writing, 
but  remained  silent. 

The  woman  stirred,  as  if  to  say  "  Well  ?  "  But 
he  hesitated. 

"  Palmyre,"  he  suddenly  said,  with  a  slight,  dis- 
suasive smile,  "  it  would  be  a  profanation  for  me  to 
read  this." 

She  bowed  to  signify  that  she  caught  his  mean- 
ing, then  raised  her  elbows  with  an  expression  of 
dubiety,  and  said : 

"  'E  hask  you " 

"  Yes,"  murmured  the  apothecary.  He  shook 
his  head  as  if  to  protest  to  himself,  and  read  in  a 
low  but   audible  voice : 

"Star  of  my  soul,  I  approach  to  die.  It  is  not  for  me 
possible  to  live  without  Palmyre.  Long  time  have  I  so  done, 
but  now,  cut  off  from  to  see  thee,  by  imprisonment,  as  it 
may  be  called,  love  is  starving  to  death.  Oh,  have  pity  on 
the  faithful  heart  which,  since  ten  years,  change  not,  but 
forget  heaven  and  earth  for  you.  Now  in  the  peril  of  the 
life,  hidden  away,  that  absence  from  the  sight  of  you  make 
his  seclusion  the  more  worse  than  death.  Halas  !  I  pine  ! 
Not  other  ten  years  of  despair  can  I  commence.  Accept 
this  love.  If  so  I  will  live  for  you,  but  if  to  the  contraire, 
I  must  die  for  you.  Is  there  anything  at  all  what  I  will 
not  give  or  even  do  if  Palmyre  will  be  my  wife  ?  Ah,  no, 
far  otherwise,  there  is  nothing  !  "   .   .   . 

Frowenfeld  looked  over  the  top  of  the  letter. 
Palmyre  sat  with  her  eyes  cast  down,  slowly   shak- 


A  Proposal  of  Marriage  423 

ing  her  head.  He  returned  his  glance  to  the  page, 
coloring  somewhat  with  annoyance  at  being  made  a 
proposing  medium. 

"  The  English  is  very  faulty  here,"  he  said, 
without  looking  up.  "  He  mentions  Bras-Coupe." 
Palmyre  started  and  turned  toward  him  ;  but  he 
went  on  without  lifting  his  eyes.  "  He  speaks  of 
your  old  pride  and  affection  toward  him  as  one  who 
with  your  aid  might  have  been  a  leader  and  de- 
liverer of  his  people."  Frowenfeld  looked  up. 
"Do  you  under " 

"  A'leZy  Mic/ie,"  said  she,  leaning  forward,  her 
great  eyes  fixed  on  the  apothecary  and  her  face  full 
of  distress.     "  Mo  comprend  bien." 

"  He  asks  you  to  let  him  be  to  you  in  the  place 
of  Bras-Coupe." 

The  eyes  of  the  philosophe,  probably  for  the  first 
time  since  the  death  of  the  giant,  lost  their  pride. 
They  gazed  upon  Frowenfeld  almost  with  piteous- 
ness ;  but  she  compressed  her  lips  and  again  slowly 
shook  her  head. 

"  You  see,"  said  Frowenfeld,  suddenly  feeling  a 
new  interest,  "  he  understands  their  wants.  He 
knows  their  wrongs.  He  is  acquainted  with  laws 
and  men.  He  could  speak  for  them.  It  would 
not  be  insurrection  —  it  would  be  advocacy.  He 
would  give  his  time,  his  pen,  his  speech,  his  means, 
to  get  them  justice  —  to  get  them  their  rights." 

She  hushed  the  over-zealous  advocate  with  a  sad 
and  bitter  smile  and  essayed  to  speak,  studied  as  if 
for  English   words,  and,  suddenly  abandoning  that 


424 


The  Grandissimes 


attempt,  said,  with  ill-concealed  scorn  and  in  the 
Creole  patois  : 

"  What  is  all  that  ?  What  I  want  is  ven- 
geance !  " 

"  I  will  finish  reading,"  said  Frowenfeld,  quickly, 
not  caring  to  understand  the  passionate  speech. 

"  Ah,  Palmyre  !  Palmyre  !  What  you  love  and  hope  to  love 
you  because  his  heart  keep  itself  free,  he  is  loving  another  !  " 

"  Qui  ci  p,  Miche  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  was  loth  to  repeat.  She  had  under- 
stood, as  her  face  showed;  but  she  dared  not  believe. 
He  made  it  shorter  : 

"  He  means  that  Honore  Grandissime  loves 
another  woman." 

"  'T  is  a  lie  !  "  she  exclaimed,  a  better  command 
of  English  coming  with  the  momentary  loss  of 
restraint. 

The  apothecary  thought  a  moment  and  then 
decided  to  speak. 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  he  quietly  said. 

"  'Ow  you  know  dat  ?  " 

She,  too,  spoke  quietly,  but  under  a  fearful  strain. 
She  had  thrown  herself  forward,  but,  as  she  spoke, 
forced  herself  back  into  her  seat. 

"  He  told  me  so  himself." 

The  tall  figure  of  Palmyre  rose  slowly  and  silently 
from  her  chair,  her  eyes  lifted  up  and  her  lips  mov- 
ing noiselessly.  She  seemed  to  have  lost  all 
knowledge  of  place  or  of  human  presence.  She 
walked   down   the   drawing-room  quite   to   its  cur- 


A  Proposal  of  Marriage  425 

tained  windows  and  there  stopped,  her  face  turned 
away  and  her  hand  laid  with  a  visible  tension  on 
the  back  of  a  chair.  She  remained  so  long  that 
Frowenfeld  had  begun  to  think  of  leaving  her  so, 
when  she  turned  and  came  back.  Her  form  was 
erect,  her  step  firm  and  nerved,  her  lips  set  together 
and  her  hands  dropped  easily  at  her  side ;  but  when 
she  came  close  up  before  the  apothecary  she  was 
trembling.  For  a  moment  she  seemed  speechless, 
and  then,  while  her  eyes  gleamed  with  passion,  she 
said,  in  a  cold,  clear  tone,  and  in  her  native  patois : 

"  Very  well :  if  I  cannot  love  I  can  have  my  re- 
venge." She  took  the  letter  from  him  and  bowed 
her  thanks,  still  adding,  in  the  same  tongue,  "  There 
is  now  no  longer  anything  to  prevent." 

The  apothecary  understood  the  dark  speech. 
She  meant  that,  with  no  hope  of  Honore's  love, 
there  was  no  restraining  motive  to  withhold  her 
from  wreaking  what  vengeance  she  could  upon 
Agricola.      But  he  saw  the  folly  of  a  debate. 

"  That  is  all  I  can  do  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Oui,  merci,  Miche"  she  said ;  then  she  added, 
in  perfect  English,  "  but  that  is  not  all  /  can  do," 
and  then  —  laughed. 

The  apothecary  had  already  turned  to  go,  and 
the  laugh  was  a  low  one ;  but  it  chilled  his  blood. 
He  was  glad  to  get  back  to  his  employments. 


426  The  Grandissimes 


CHAPTER   LI 

BUSINESS    CHANGES 

We  have  now  recorded  some  of  the  events  which 
characterized  the  five  months  during  which  Doctor 
Keene  had  been  vainly  seeking  to  recover  his  health 
in  the  West  Indies. 

"Is  Mr.  Frowenfeld  in?"  he  asked,  walking 
very  slowly,  and  with  a  cane,  into  the  new  drug- 
store on  the  morning  of  his  return  to  the  city. 

"  If  Professo'  Frowenfel'  's  in  ?  "  replied  a  young 
man  in  shirt-sleeves,  speaking  rapidly,  slapping  a 
paper  package  which  he  had  just  tied,  and  sliding  it 
smartly  down  the  counter.     "  No,  seh." 

A  quick  step  behind  the  doctor  caused  him  to 
turn ;  Raoul  was  just  entering,  with  a  bright  look 
of  business  on  his  face,  taking  his  coat  off  as  he 
came. 

"  Docta  Keene  !  Teck  a  chair.  'Ow  you  like  de 
noo  sto'  ?  See  ?  Fo'  counters  !  T'ree  clerk'  ! 
De  whole  interieure  paint  undre  mie  h-own  direc- 
tion !  If  dat  is  not  a  beautiful  !  eh  ?  Look  at  dat 
sign." 

He  pointed  to  some  lettering  in  harmonious 
colors  near  the  ceiling  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
house.      The   doctor  looked  and  read  : 

MANDARIN,     AG't,    APOTHECARY. 

"  Why  not  Frowenfeld  ?  "  he  asked. 
Raoul  shrugged. 


Business  Changes  427 

"  'T  is  better  dis  way." 

That  was  his  explanation. 

"  Not  the  De  Brahmin  Mandarin  who  was 
Honore's  manager  ?  " 

"Yes.  Honore  wasn'  able  to  kip  'im  no  long-er. 
Honore  is  n'  so  rich  lak  befo'." 

"  And  Mandarin  is  really  in  charge  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  Profess-or  Frowenfel'  all  de  time  at 
de  ole  corner,  w'ere  'e  f<?#tinue  to  keep  'is  private 
room  and  h-use  de  ole  shop  fo'  ware'ouse. 
'E  h-only  come  yeh  w'en  Mandarin  cann'  git  'long 
widout  'im." 

"  What  does  he  do  there  ?     He  's  not  rich." 

Raoul  bent  down  toward  the  doctor's  chair  and 
whispered  the  dark  secret : 

"  Studyin'  ! " 

Doctor  Keene  went  out. 

Everything  seemed  changed  to  the  returned 
wanderer.  Poor  man  !  The  changes  were  very 
slight  save  in  their  altered  relation  to  him.  To  one 
broken  in  health,  and  still  more  to  one  with  a  broken 
heart,  old  scenes  fall  upon  the  sight  in  broken  rays. 
A  sort  of  vague  alienation  seemed  to  the  little  doctor 
to  come  like  a  film  over  the  long-familiar  vistas  of 
the  town  where  he  had  once  walked  in  the  vigor 
and  complacency  of  strength  and  distinction.  This 
was  not  the  same  New  Orleans.  The  people  he 
met  on  the  street  were  more  or  less  familiar  to  his 
memory,  but  many  that  should  have  recognized 
him  failed  to  do  so,  and  others  were  made  to  notice 
him  rather  by  his  cough  than  by  his  face.     Some 


428  The  Grandissimes 

did  not  know  he  had  been  away.  It  made  him 
cross. 

He  had  walked  slowly  down  beyond  the  old 
Frowenfeld  corner  and  had  just  crossed  the  street  to 
avoid  the  dust  of  a  building  which  was  being  torn 
down  to  make  place  for  a  new  one,  when  he  saw 
coming  toward  him,  unconscious  of  his  proximity, 
Joseph  Frowenfeld. 

"  Doctor  Keene  !  "  said  Frowenfeld,  with  almost 
the  enthusiasm  of  Raoul. 

The  doctor  was  very  much  quieter. 

"  Hello,  Joe." 

They  went  back  to  the  new  drug-store,  sat  down 
in  a  pleasant  little  rear  corner  enclosed  by  a  railing 
and  curtains,  and  talked. 

"  And  did  the  trip  prove  of  no  advantage  to 
you  ? " 

"  You  see.  But  never  mind  me ;  tell  me  about 
Honore;  how  does  that  row  with  his  family  pro- 
gress ? " 

"  It  still  continues  ;  the  most  of  his  people  hold 
ideas  of  justice  and  prerogative  that  run  parallel 
with  family  and  party  lines,  lines  of  caste,  of  custom 
and  the  like ;  they  have  imparted  their  bad  feeling 
against  him  to  the  community  at  large ;  very  easy 
to  do  just  now,  for  the  election  for  President  of  the 
States  comes  on  in  the  fall,  and  though  we  in 
Louisiana  have  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  it,  the 
people  are  feverish." 

"  The  country's  chill-day,"  said  Doctor  Keene ; 
"  dumb  chill,  hot  fever." 


Business  Changes  429 

"The  excitement  is  intense,"  said  Frowenfeld. 
"It  seems  we  are  not  to  be  granted  suffrage  yet; 
but  the  Creoles  have  a  way  of  casting  votes  in  their 
mind.  For  example,  they  have  voted  Honore 
Grandissime  a  traitor ;  they  have  voted  me  an  en- 
cumbrance ;  I  hear  one  of  them  casting  that  vote 
now." 

Some  one  near  the  front  of  the  store  was  talking 
excitedly  with  Raoul : 

"  An'  —  an'  —  an'  w'at  are  the  consequence  ? 
The  consequence  are  that  we  smash  his  shop  for 
him  an'  'e  'ave  to  make  a  noo-start  with  a  Creole 
partner's  money  an'  put  'is  sto'  in  charge  of  Creole'  ! 
If  I  know  he  is  yo'  frien'  ?  Yesseh  !  Valuable 
citizen  ?  An'  w'at  we  care  for  valuable  citizen  ? 
Let  him  be  valuable  if  he  want;  it  keep'  him  from 
gettin'  the  neck  broke;  but — he  mus'-tek-kyeh  — 
'ow  —  he  —  talk'!  He-mus'-tek-kyeh  'ow  he  stir 
the  'ot  blood  of  Louisyanna  !  " 

"  He  is  perfectly  right,"  said  the  little  doctor,  in 
his  husky  undertone ;  "  neither  you  nor  Honore  is 
a  bit  sound,  and  I  should  n't  wonder  if  they  would 
hang  you  both,  yet ;  and  as  for  that  darkey  who  has 
had  the  impudence  to  try  to  make  a  commercial 
white  gentleman  of  himself — it  may  not  be  I  that 
ought  to  say  it,  but  —  he  will  get  his  deserts  — 
sure ! " 

"  There  are  a  great  many  Americans  that  think 
as  you  do,"  said  Frowenfeld,  quietly. 

"  But,"  said  the  little  doctor,  "  what  did  that 
fellow  mean  by  your  Creole  partner  ?      Mandarin  is 


43° 


The  Grandissimes 


in  charge  of  your  store,  but  he  is  not  your  partner, 
is  he  ?      Have  you  one  ?  " 

"  A  silent  one,"  said  the  apothecary 

"  So  silent  as  to  be  none  of  my  business  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  who  is  it,  then  ?  " 

"  It  is  Mademoiselle  Nancanou." 

"  Your  partner  in  business  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  Joseph  Frowenfeld, " 

The  insinuation  conveyed  in  the  doctor's  manner 
was  very  trying,  but  Joseph  merely  reddened. 

"  Purely  business,  I  suppose,"  presently  said  the 
doctor,  with  a  ghastly  ironical  smile.  "  Does  the 
arrangem'  —  "  his  utterance  failed  him  —  "does  it 
end  there  ?  " 

"  It  ends  there." 

"  And  you  don't  see  that  it  ought  either  not  to 
have  begun,  or  else  ought  not  to  have  ended  there  ?  " 

Frowenfeld  blushed  angrily.     The  doctor  asked : 

"  And  who  takes  care  of  Aurora's  money  ?  " 

"  Herself." 

"  Exclusively  ?  " 

They  both  smiled  more  good-naturedly. 

"  Exclusively." 

"  She  's  a  coon  ; "  and  the  little  doctor  rose  up 
and  crawled  away,  ostensibly  to  see  another  friend, 
but  really  to  drag  himself  into  his  bedchamber  and 
lock  himself  in.  The  next  day  —  the  yellow  fever 
was  bad  again  —  he  resumed  the  practice  of  his  pro- 
fession. 


Love  Lies  a-Bleeding  431 

"  'T  will    be    a    sort    of  decent    suicide  without 

the  element  of  pusillanimity,"  he  thought  to  him- 
self. 


CHAPTER    LII 

LOVE    LIES    A-BLEEDING 

When  Honore  Grandissime  heard  that  Doctor 
Keene  had  returned  to  the  city  in  a  very  feeble  state 
of  health,  he  rose  at  once  from  the  desk  where  he 
was  sitting  and  went  to  see  him  ;  but  it  was  on  that 
morning  when  the  doctor  was  sitting  and  talking 
with  Joseph,  and  Honore  found  his  chamber  door 
locked.  Doctor  Keene  called  twice,  within  the  fol- 
lowing two  days,  upon  Honore  at  his  counting- 
room  ;  but  on  both  occasions  Honore's  chair  was 
empty.  So  it  was  several  days  before  they  met. 
But  one  hot  morning  in  the  latter  part  of  August, 
—  the  August  days  were  hotter  before  the  cypress 
forest  was  cut  down  between  the  city  and  the  lake 
than  they  are  now,  —  as  Doctor  Keene  stood  in  the 
middle  of  his  room  breathing  distressedly  after  a 
sad  fit  of  coughing,  and  looking  toward  one  of  his 
windows  whose  closed  sash  he  longed  to  see  opened, 
Honore  knocked  at  the  door. 

"  Well,  come  in  !  "  said  the  fretful  invalid. 
"Why,  Honore,  —  well,  it  serves  you  right  for 
stopping  to  knock.      Sit  down." 

Each  took  a  hasty,  scrutinizing  glance  at  the 
other ;  and,  after  a  pause,  Doctor  Keene  said : 


432  The  Grandissimes 

"  Honore,  you  are  pretty  badly  stove." 

M.  Grandissime  smiled. 

"Do  you  think  so,  Doctor?  I  will  be  more 
complimentary  to  you  ;  you  might  look  more 
sick." 

"  Oh,  I  have  resumed  my  trade,"  replied  Doctor 
Keene. 

"So  I  have  heard  ;  but,  Charlie,  that  is  all  in  favor 
of  the  people  who  want  a  skilful  and  advanced 
physician  and  do  not  mind  killing  him  ;  I  should 
advise  you  not  to  do  it." 

"  You  mean "  (the  incorrigible  little  doctor 
smiled  cynically)  "  if  I  should  ask  your  advice. 
I  am  going  to  get  well,  Honore." 

His  visitor  shrugged. 

"  So  much  the  better.  I  do  confess  I  am 
tempted  to  make  use  of  you  in  your  official  capac- 
ity, right  now.  Do  you  feel  strong  enough  to  go 
with  me  in  your  gig  a  little  way  ?  " 

"  A  professional  call  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  a  difficult  case ;  also  a  confidential 
one." 

"Ah!  confidential!"  said  the  little  man,  in  his 
painful,  husky  irony.  "  You  want  to  get  me  into 
the  sort  of  scrape  I  got  our  c  professor '   into,  eh  ?  " 

"  Possibly  a  worse  one,"  replied  the  amiable 
Creole. 

"  And  I  must  be  mum,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  would  prefer." 

"  Shall  I  need  any  instruments  ?  No  ?  "  —  with 
a  shade  of  disappointment  on  his  face. 


Love  Lies  a-Bleeding  433 

He  pulled  a  bell-rope  and  ordered  his  gig  to  the 
street  door. 

"  How  are  affairs  about  town  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he 
made  some  slight  preparation  for  the  street. 

"  Excitement  continues.  Just  as  I  came  along, 
a  private  difficulty  between  a  Creole  and  an  Ameri- 
cain  drew  instantly  half  the  street  together  to  take 
sides  strictly  according  to  belongings  and  without 
asking  a  question.  My-de'-seh,  we  are  having,  as 
Frowenfeld  says,  a  war  of  human  acids  and  alka- 
lies." 

They  descended  and  drove  away.  At  the  first 
corner  the  lad  who  drove  turned,  by  Honore's 
direction,  toward  the  rue  Dauphine,  entered  it, 
passed  down  it  to  the  rue  Dumaine,  turned  into 
this  toward  the  river  again  and  entered  the  rue 
Conde.  The  route  was  circuitous.  They  stopped 
at  the  carriage-door  of  a  large  brick  house.  The 
wicket  was  opened  by  Clemence.  They  alighted 
without  driving  in. 

"  Hey,  old  witch,"  said  the  doctor,  with  mock 
severity  ;  "  not  hung  yet  ? " 

The  houses  of  any  pretension  to  comfortable 
spaciousness  in  the  closely  built  parts  of  the  town 
were  all  of  the  one,  general,  Spanish-American 
plan.  Honore  led  the  doctor  through  the  cool, 
high,  tessellated  carriage-hall,  on  one  side  of  which 
were  the  drawing-rooms,  closed  and  darkened. 
They  turned  at  the  bottom,  ascended  a  broad,  iron- 
railed  staircase  to  the  floor  above,  and  halted  before 
the  open  half  of  a  glazed  double  door  with  a 
28 


434 


The  Grandissimes 


clumsy  iron  latch.  It  was  the  entrance  to  two 
spacious  chambers,  which  were  thrown  into  one  by 
folded  doors. 

The  doctor  made  a  low,  indrawn  whistle  and 
raised  his  eyebrows — the  rooms  were  so  sump- 
tuously furnished ;  immovable  largeness  and  heavi- 
ness, lofty  sobriety,  abundance  of  finely  wrought 
brass  mounting,  motionless  richness  of  upholstery, 
much  silent  twinkle  of  pendulous  crystal,  a  soft 
semi-obscurity  —  such  were  the  characteristics. 
The  long  windows  of  the  farther  apartment  could 
be  seen  to  open  over  the  street,  and  the  air  from 
behind,  coming  in  over  a  green  mass  of  fig-trees  that 
stood  in  the  paved  court  below,  moved  through  the 
rooms,  making  them  cool  and  cavernous. 

"  You  don't  call  this  a  hiding  place,  do  you  — 
in  his  own  bed-chamber  ?  "  the  doctor  whispered. 

"  It  is  necessary,  now,  only  to  keep  out  of  sight," 
softly  answered  Honore.  "  Agricole  and  some 
others  ransacked  this  house  one  night  last  March 
—  the  day  I  announced  the  new  firm;  but  of 
course,  then,  he  was  not  here." 

They  entered,  and  the  figure  of  Honore  Gran- 
dissime,  f.  m.  c,  came  into  view  in  the  centre  of  the 
farther  room,  reclining  in  an  attitude  of  extreme 
languor  on  a  low  couch,  whither  he  had  come  from 
the  high  bed  near  by,  as  the  impression  of  his  form 
among  its  pillows  showed.  He  turned  upon  the 
two  visitors  his  slow,  melancholy  eyes,  and,  without 
an  attempt  to  rise  or  speak,  indicated,  by  a  feeble 
motion  of  the  hand,  an  invitation  to  be  seated. 


Love  Lies  a-Bleeding  435 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Doctor  Keene,  selecting  a 
light  chair  and  drawing  it  close  to  the  side  of  the 
couch. 

The  patient  before  him  was  emaciated.  The 
limp  and  bloodless  hand,  which  had  not  responded 
to  the  doctor's  friendly  pressure  but  sank  idly  back 
upon  the  edge  of  the  couch,  was  cool  and  moist, 
and  its  nails  slightly  blue. 

"  Lie  still,"  said  the  doctor,  reassuringly,  as  the 
rentier  began  to  lift  the  one  knee  and  slippered 
foot  which  was  drawn  up  on  the  couch  and  the 
hand  which  hung  out  of  sight  across  a  large,  linen- 
covered  cushion. 

By  pleasant  talk  that  seemed  all  chat,  the 
physician  soon  acquainted  himself  with  the  case 
before  him.  It  was  a  very  plain  one.  By  and 
by  he  rubbed  his  face  and  red  curls  and  suddenly 
said : 

"  You  will  not  take  my  prescription." 

The  f.  m.  c.  did  not  say  yes  or  no. 

"  Still,"  —  the  doctor  turned  sideways  in  his 
chair,  as  was  his  wont,  and,  as  he  spoke,  allowed 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  to  take  that  little  satirical 
downward  pull  which  his  friends  disliked,  "  I  '11  do 
my  duty.  I  '11  give  Honore  the  details  as  to  diet; 
no  physic  ;  but  my  prescription  to  you  is,  Get  up 
and  get  out.  Never  mind  the  risk  of  rough 
handling  ;  they  can  but  kill  you,  and  you  will  die 
anyhow  if  you  stay  here."  He  rose.  "  I  '11  send 
you  a  chalybeate  tonic;  or — I  will  leave  it  at 
Frowenfeld's  to-morrow  morning,  and  you  can   call 


436  The  Grandissimes 

there  and  get  it.  It  will  give  you  an  object  for 
going  out." 

The  two  visitors  presently  said  adieu  and  retired 
together.  Reaching  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  in  the 
carriage  "  corridor,"  they  turned  in  a  direction 
opposite  to  the  entrance  and  took  chairs  in  a  cool 
nook  of  the  paved  court,  at  a  small  table  where 
the  hospitality  of  Clemence  had  placed  glasses  of 
lemonade. 

"  No,"  said  the  doctor,  as  they  sat  down,  "  there 
is,  as  yet,  no  incurable  organic  derangement ;  a  little 
heart  trouble  easily  removed ;  still  your  —  your 
patient " 

"My  half-brother,"  said  Honore. 

"  Your  patient,"  said  Doctor  Keene,  "  is  an  em- 
phatic '  yes  '  to  the  question  the  girls  sometimes  ask 
us  doctors —  Does  love  ever  kill?'  It  will  kill 
him  soon,  if  you  do  not  get  him  to  rouse  up.  There 
is  absolutely  nothing  the  matter  with  him  but  his 
unrequited  love." 

"  Fortunately,  the  most  of  us,"  said  Honore, 
with  something  of  the  doctor's  smile,  "  do  not  love 
hard  enough  to  be  killed  by  it." 

"  Very  few."  The  doctor  paused,  and  his  blue 
eyes,  distended  in  reverie,  gazed  upon  the  glass  which 
he  was  slowly  turning  around  with  his  attenuated 
fingers  as  it  stood  on  the  board,  while  he  added  : 
"  However,  one  may  love  as  hopelessly  and  harder 
than  that  man  upstairs,  and  yet  not  die." 

"  There  is  comfort  in  that  —  to  those  who  must 
live,"  said  Honore  with  gentle  gravity. 


Love  Lies  a-Bleeding  437 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  still  toying  with  his 
glass. 

He  slowly  lifted  his  glance,  and  the  eyes  of  the 
two  men  met  and  remained  steadfastly  fixed  each 
upon  each. 

"  You  've  got  it  bad,"  said  Doctor  Keene,  mechan- 
ically. 

"  And  you  ?  "  retorted  the  Creole. 

"  It  is  n  't  going  to  kill  me." 

"  It  has  net  killed  me.  And,"  added  M.  Gran- 
dissime,  as  they  passed  through  the  carriage-way 
toward  the  street,  "  while  I  keep  in  mind  the  num- 
berless other  sorrows  of  life,  the  burials  of  wives 
and  sons  and  daughters,  the  agonies  and  desola- 
tions, I  shall  never  die  of  love,  my-de'-seh,  for  very 
shame's  sake." 

This  was  much  sentiment  to  risk  within  Doctor 
Keene's  reach ;  but  he  took  no  advantage  of  it. 

"Honore,"  said  he,  as  they  joined  hands  on  the 
banquette  beside  the  doctor's  gig,  to  say  good-day, 
"  if  you  think  there  's  a  chance  for  you,  why  stickle 
upon  such  fine-drawn  points  as  I  reckon  you  are 
making  ?  Why,  sir,  as  I  understand  it,  this  is  the 
only  weak  spot  your  action  has  shown  ;  you  have 
taken  an  inoculation  of  Quixotic  conscience  from 
our  transcendental  apothecary  and  perpetrated  a  lot 
of  heroic  behavior  that  would  have  done  honor  to 
four-and-twenty  Brutuses  ;  and  now  that  you  have 
a  chance  to  do  something  easy  and  human,  you 
shiver  and  shrink  at  the  'looks  o'  the  thing.'  Why, 
what  do  you  care " 


43! 


The  Grandissimes 


"Hush!"  said  Honore;  "do  you  suppose  I 
have  not  temptation  enough  already  ?  " 

He  began  to  move  away. 

"  Honore,"  said  the  doctor,  following  him  a  step, 
"  I  could  n't  have  made  a  mistake  —  It  's  the  little 
Monk, —  it 's  Aurora,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

Honore  nodded,  then  faced  his  friend  more 
directly,  with  a  sudden  new  thought. 

"  But,  Doctor,  why  not  take  your  own  advice  ?  I 
know  not  how  you  are  prevented  ;  you  have  as 
good  a  right  as  Frowenfeld." 

"It  wouldn't  be  honest,"  said  the  doctor;  "it 
would  n't  be  the  straight  up  and  down  manly  thing." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

The  doctor  stepped  into  his  gig 

"  Not  till  I  feel  all  right  here."     (In  his  chest.) 


CHAPTER    LIII 

FROWENFELD    AT    THE    GRANDISSIME    MANSION 

One  afternoon  —  it  seems  to  have  been  some 
time  in  June,  and  consequently  earlier  than  Doctor 
Keene's  return  —  the  Grandissimes  were  set  all 
a-tremble  with  vexation  by  the  discovery  that  an- 
other of  their  number  had,  to  use  Agricola's  expres- 
sion, "  gone  over  to  the  enemy,"  —  a  phrase  first 
applied  by  him  to  Honore. 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  convey  by  that  term  ? " 
Frowenfeld  had  asked  on  that  earlier  occasion. 


Frowenfeld  at  the  Grandissime  Mansion     439 

"  Gone  over  to  the  enemy  means,  my  son,  gone 
over  to  the  enemy  !  "  replied  Agricola.  "  It  im- 
plies affiliation  with  Americains  in  matters  of 
business  and  of  government !  It  implies  the  ex- 
change of  social  amenities  with  a  race  of  upstarts  ! 
It  implies  a  craven  consent  to  submit  the  sacredest 
prejudices  of  our  fathers  to  the  new-fangled  meas- 
uring-rods of  pert,  imported  theories  upon  moral 
and  political  progress !  It  implies  a  listening  to, 
and  reasoning  with,  the  condemners  of  some  of 
our  most  time-honored  and  respectable  practices  ! 
Reasoning  with  ?  N-a-hay  !  but  Honore  has  posi- 
tively sat  down  and  eaten  with  them!  What?  — 
and  h-walked  out  into  the  stre-heet  with  them,  arm 
in  arm  !  It  implies  in  his  case  an  act  —  two  separate 
and  distinct  acts  —  so  base  that  —  that — I  simply 
do  not  understand  them  !  H-you  know,  Professor 
Frowenfeld,  what  he  has  done  !  You  know  how 
ignominiously  he  has  surrendered  the  key  of  a 
moral  position  which  for  the  honor  of  the  Gran- 
dissime-Fusilier  name  we  have  felt  it  necessary  to 
hold  against  our  hereditary  enemies  !     And  —  you 

—  know "   here  Agricola  actually  dropped  all 

artificiality  and  spoke  from  the  depths  of  his  feel- 
ings, without  figure  —  "  h-h-he  has  joined  himself 
in  business  h-with  a  man  of  negro  blood  !  What 
can  we  do?  What  can  we  say?  It  is  Honore 
Grandissime.  We  can  only  say,  c  Farewell  !  He 
is  gone  over  to  the  enemy.'  " 

The  new  cause  of  exasperation  was  the  defection 
of  Raoul  Innerarity.     Raoul  had,  somewhat  from  a 


44-0  The  Grandissimes 

distance,  contemplated  such  part  as  he  could  under- 
stand of  Joseph  Frowenfeld's  character  with  ever- 
broadening  admiration.  We  know  how  devoted  he 
became  to  the  interests  and  fame  of"  Frowenfeld's." 
It  was  in  April  he  had  married.  Not  to  divide  his 
generous  heart  he  took  rooms  opposite  the  drug- 
store, resolved  that  "  Frowenfeld's  "  should  be  not 
only  the  latest  closed  but  the  earliest  opened  of  all 
the  pharmacies  in  New  Orleans. 

This,  it  is  true,  was  allowable.  Not  many  weeks 
afterward  his  bride  fell  suddenly  and  seriously  ill. 
The  overflowing  souls  of  Aurora  and  Clotilde  could 
not  be  so  near  to  trouble  and  not  know  it,  and 
before  Raoul  was  nearly  enough  recovered  from  the 
shock  of  this  peril  to  remember  that  he  was  a 
Grandissime,  these  last  two  of  the  De  Grapions 
had  hastened  across  the  street  to  the  small,  white- 
walled  sick-room  and  filled  it  as  full  of  universal 
human  love  as  the  cup  of  a  magnolia  is  full  of 
perfume.  Madame  Innerarity  recovered.  A  warm 
affection  was  all  she  and  her  husband  could  pay 
such  ministration  in,  and  this  they  paid  bountifully; 
the  four  became  friends.  The  little  madame  found 
herself  drawn  most  toward  Clotilde ;  to  her  she 
opened  her  heart — and  her  wardrobe,  and  showed 
her  all  her  beautiful  new  underclothing.  Raoul 
found  Clotilde  to  be,  for  him,  rather  —  what  shall  we 
say  ?  —  starry  ;  starrily  inaccessible  ;  but  Aurora  was 
emphatically  after  his  liking ;  he  was  delighted  with 
Aurora.  He  told  her  in  confidence  that  "  Pro- 
fess-or  Frowenfel'  "  was  the  best  man  in  the  world  ; 


Frowenfeld  at  the  Grandissime  Mansion     44 1 

but  she  boldly  said,  taking  pains  to  speak  with  a 
tear-and-a-half  of  genuine  gratitude,  —  "  Egcep' 
Monsieur  Honore  Grandissime,"  and  he  assented, 
at  first  with  hesitation  and  then  with  ardor.  The 
four  formed  a  group  of  their  own ;  and  it  is  not 
certain  that  this  was  not  the  very  first  specimen 
ever  produced  in  the  Crescent  City  of  that  social 
variety  of  New  Orleans  life  now  distinguished  as 
Uptown  Creoles. 

Almost  the  first  thing  acquired  by  Raoul  in  the 
camp  of  the  enemy  was  a  certain  Aurorean  audac- 
ity ;  and  on  the  afternoon  to  which  we  allude, 
having  told  Frowenfeld  a  rousing  fib  to  the  effect 
that  the  multitudinous  inmates  of  the  maternal 
Grandissime  mansion  had  insisted  on  his  bringing 
his  esteemed  employer  to  see  them,  he  and  his 
bride  had  the  hardihood  to  present  him  on  the 
front  veranda. 

The  straightforward  Frowenfeld  was  much  pleased 
with  his  reception.  It  was  not  possible  for  such  as 
he  to  guess  the  ire  with  which  his  presence  was 
secretly  regarded.  New  Orleans,  let  us  say  once 
more,  was  small,  and  the  apothecary  of  the  rue 
Royale  locally  famed ;  and  what  with  curiosity  and 
that  innate  politeness  which  it  is  the  Creole's  boast 
that  he  cannot  mortify,  the  veranda,  about  the  top 
of  the  great  front  stair,  was  well  crowded  with 
people  of  both  sexes  and  all  ages.  It  would  be 
most  pleasant  to  tarry  once  more  in  description  of 
this  gathering  of  nobility  and  beauty  ;  to  recount 
the  points  of  Creole  loveliness  in  midsummer  dress  ; 


442  The  Grandissimes 

to  tell  in  particular  of  one  and  another  eye-kindling 
face,  form,  manner,  wit ;  to  define  the  subtle  quali- 
ties of  Creole  air  and  sky  and  scene,  or  the  yet  more 
delicate  graces  that  characterize  the  music  of  Creole 
voice  and  speech  and  the  light  of  Creole  eyes  ;  to 
set  forth  the  gracious,  unaccentuated  dignity  of  the 
matrons  and  the  ravishing  archness  of  their 
daughters.  To  Frowenfeld  the  experience  seemed 
all  unreal.  Nor  was  this  unreality  removed  by 
conversation  on  grave  subjects ;  for  few  among 
either  the  maturer  or  the  younger  beauty  could  do 
aught  but  listen  to  his  foreign  tongue  like  unearthly 
strangers  in  the  old  fairy  tales.  They  came,  how- 
ever, in  the  course  of  their  talk  to  the  subject  of 
love  and  marriage.  It  is  not  certain  that  they 
entered  deeper  into  the  great  question  than  a  com- 
parison of  its  attendant  Anglo-American  and 
Franco-American  conventionalities  ;  but  sure  it  is 
that  somehow  —  let  those  young  souls  divine  the 
method  who  can  —  every  unearthly  stranger  on  that 
veranda  contrived  to  understand  Frowenfeld's  Eng- 
lish. Suddenly  the  conversation  began  to  move 
over  the  ground  of  inter-marriage  between  hostile 
families.  Then  what  eyes  and  ears !  A  certain 
suspicion  had  already  found  lodgement  in  the  uni- 
versal Grandissime  breast,  and  every  one  knew  in  a 
moment  that,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  they  were 
about  to  argue  the  case  of  Honore  and  Aurora. 

The  conversation  became  discussion,  Frowenfeld, 
Raoul  and  Raoul's  little  seraph  against  the  whole 
host,  chariots,  horse  and  archery.    Ah!  such  strokes 


Frowenfeld  at  the  Grandissime  Mansion     443 

as  the  apothecary  dealt !  And  if  Raoul  and 
"  Madame  Raoul  "  played  parts  most  closely  re- 
sembling the  blowing  of  horns  and  breaking  of 
pitchers,  still  they  bore  themselves  gallantly.  The 
engagement  was  short ;  we  need  not  say  that  no- 
body surrendered  ;  nobody  ever  gives  up  the  ship 
in  parlor  or  veranda  debate:  and  yet — as  is  gen- 
erally the  case  in  such  affairs  —  truth  and  justice 
made  some  unacknowledged  headway.  If  anybody 
on  either  side  came  out  wounded  —  this  to  the 
credit  of  the  Creoles  as  a  people  —  the  sufferer  had 
the  heroic  good  manners  not  to  say  so.  But  the 
results  were  more  marked  than  this ;  indeed,  in 
more  than  one  or  two  candid  young  hearts  and 
impressible  minds  the  wrongs  and  rights  of  sov- 
ereign true  love  began  there  on  the  spot  to  be  more 
generously  conceded  and  allowed.  "  My-de'-seh," 
Honore  had  once  on  a  time  said  to  Frowenfeld, 
meaning  that  to  prevail  in  conversational  debate 
one  should  never  follow  up  a  faltering  opponent, 
"  you  mus'  crack  the  egg,  not  smash  it !  "  And 
Joseph,  on  rising  to  take  his  leave,  could  the  more 
amiably  overlook  the  feebleness  of  the  invitation  to 
call  again,  since  he  rejoiced,  for  Honore's  sake,  in 
the  conviction  that  the  egg  was  cracked. 

Agricola,  the  Grandissimes  told  the  apothecary, 
was  ill  in  his  room,  and  Madame  de  Grandissime, 
his  sister — Honore's  mother  —  begged  to  be  ex- 
cused that  she  might  keep  him  company.  The 
Fusiliers  were  a  very  close  order;  or  one  might 
say  they  garrisoned  the  citadel. 


444  The  Grandissimes 

But  Joseph's  rising  to  go  was  not  immediately 
upon  the  close  of  the  discussion ;  those  courtly 
people  would  not  let  even  an  unwelcome  guest 
go  with  the  faintest  feeling  of  disrelish  for  them. 
They  were  casting  about  in  their  minds  for  some 
momentary  diversion  with  which  to  add  a  finishing 
touch  to  their  guest's  entertainment,  when  Clem- 
ence  appeared  in  the  front  garden  walk  and  was 
quickly  surrounded  by  bounding  children,  alter- 
nately begging  and  demanding  a  song.  Many  of 
even  the  younger  adults  remembered  well  when 
she  had  been  "one  of  the  hands  on  the  place,"  and 
a  passionate  lover  of  the  African  dance.  In  the 
same  instant  half  a  dozen  voices  proposed  that  for 
Joseph's  amusement  Clemence  should  put  her  cakes 
off  her  head,  come  up  on  the  veranda  and  show  a 
few  of  her  best  steps. 

"  But  who  will  sing  ?  " 

"  Raoul  ! " 

"  Very  well ;  and  what  shall  it  be  ?  " 

"  '  Madame  Gaba.'  " 

No,  Clemence  objected. 

"Well,  well,  stand  back  —  something  better  than 
'  Madame  Gaba.'  " 

Raoul  began  to  sing  and  Clemence  instantly  to 
pace  and  turn,  posture,  bow,  respond  to  the  song, 
start,  swing,  straighten,  stamp,  wheel,  lift  her  hand, 
stoop,  twist,  walk,  whirl,  tiptoe  with  crossed  ankles, 
smite  her  palms,  march,  circle,  leap,  —  an  endless 
improvisation  of  rhythmic  motion  to  this  modulated 
responsive  chant : 


Frowenfeld  at  the  Grandissime  Mansion     445 

Raoul.     "  Mo  pas  /'aimein  fa." 

Clemence.      "Micbe  Igenne,  oap!  oap  !  oap!" 

He.     "  Ye  donne  vingt  cinq  sous  pou!  manze  poule." 

She.      "  Micbe  Igenne,  dit  —  dit  —  dit ' ' 

He.      "  Mo  pas  /' aimein  fa  f" 

She.     "  Micbe  Igenne,  oap!  oap!  oap!" 

He.     "  Mo  pas  I' aimein  fa!" 

She.     "  Micbe  Igenne,  oap  !  oap  !  oap  !  ' ' 

Frowenfeld  was  not  so  greatly  amused  as  the 
ladies  thought  he  should  have  been,  and  was  told 
that  this  was  not  a  fair  indication  of  what  he  would 
see  if  there  were  ten  dancers  instead  of  one. 

How  much  less  was  it  an  indication  of  what  he 
would  have  seen  in  that  mansion  early  the  next 
morning,  when  there  was  found  just  outside  of 
Agricola's  bedroom  door  a  fresh  egg,  not  cracked, 
according  to  Honore's  maxim,  but  smashed,  accord- 
ing to  the  lore  of  the  voudous.  Who  could  have 
got  in  in  the  night?  And  did  the  intruder  get  in 
by  magic,  by  outside  lock-picking,  or  by  inside 
collusion  ?  Later  in  the  morning,  the  children 
playing  in  the  basement  found  —  it  had  evidently 
been  accidentally  dropped,  since  the  true  use  of  its 
contents  required  them  to  be  scattered  in  some  per- 
son's path  —  a  small  cloth  bag,  containing  a  quan- 
tity of  dogs'  and  cats'  hair,  cut  fine  and  mixed  with 
salt  and  pepper. 

"  Clemence  ? " 

"  Pooh  !  Clemence.  No  !  But  as  sure  as  the 
sun  turns  around  the  world  —  Palmyre  Philosophe!" 


446  The  Grandissimes 


CHAPTER    LIV 

"  CAULDRON     BUBBLE  " 

The  excitement  and  alarm  produced  by  the  prac- 
tical threat  of  voudou  curses  upon  Agricola  was 
one  thing,  Creole  lethargy  was  quite  another ;  and 
when,  three  mornings  later,  a  full  quartette  of 
voudou  charms  was  found  in  the  four  corners  of 
Agricola's  pillow,  the  great  Grandissime  family 
were  ignorant  of  how  they  could  have  come  there. 
Let  us  examine  these  terrible  engines  of  mischief. 
In  one  corner  was  an  acorn  drilled  through  with 
two  holes  at  right  angles  to  each  other,  a  small 
feather  run  through  each  hole ;  in  the  second  a 
joint  of  cornstalk  with  a  cavity  scooped  from  the 
middle,  the  pith  left  intact  at  the  ends,  and  the 
space  filled  with  parings  from  that  small  callous 
spot  near  the  knee  of  the  horse,  called  the  "  nail ; " 
in  the  third  corner  a  bunch  of  parti-colored  feathers ; 
something  equally  meaningless  in  the  fourth.  No 
thread  was  used  in  any  of  them.  All  fastening  was 
done  with  the  gum  of  trees.  It  was  no  easy  task 
for  his  kindred  to  prevent  Agricola,  beside  himself 
with  rage  and  fright,  from  going  straight  to  Pal- 
myre's  house  and  shooting  her  down  in  open  day. 

"  We  shall  have  to  watch  our  house  by  night," 
said  a  gentleman  of  the  household,  when  they  had 
at  length  restored  the  Citizen  to  a  condition  of 
mind  which  enabled  them  to  hold  him  in  a  chair. 


"  Cauldron  Bubble  "  447 

"Watch  this  house?"  cried  a  chorus.  "You 
don't  suppose  she  comes  near  here,  do  you  ?  She 
does  it  all  from  a  distance.  No,  no  ;  watch  her 
house." 

Did  Agricola  believe  in  the  supernatural  potency 
of  these  gimcracks  ?  No,  and  yes.  Not  to  be 
foolhardy,  he  quietly  slipped  down  every  day  to  the 
levee,  had  a  slave-boy  row  him  across  the  river  in  a 
skiff,  landed,  re-embarked,  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
stream  surreptitiously  cast  a  picayune  over  his 
shoulder  into  the  river.  Monsieur  D'Embarras, 
the  imp  of  death  thus  placated,  must  have  been  a 
sort  of  spiritual  Cheap  John. 

Several  more  nights  passed.  The  house  of 
Palmyre,  closely  watched,  revealed  nothing.  No 
one  came  out,  no  one  went  in,  no  light  was  seen. 
They  should  have  watched  in  broad  daylight.  At 
last,  one  midnight,  'Polyte  Grandissime  stepped 
cautiously  up  to  one  of  the  batten  doors  with  an 
auger,  and  succeeded,  without  arousing  any  one,  in 
boring  a  hole.  He  discovered  a  lighted  candle 
standing  in  a  glass  of  water. 

"  Nothing  but  a  bedroom  light,"  said  one. 

"  Ah,  bah  !  "  whispered  the  other  ;  "  it  is  to  make 
the  spell  work  strong." 

"  We  will  not  tell  Agricola  first ;  we  had  better 
tell  Honore,"  said  Sylvestre. 

"You  forget,"  said  'Polyte,  "that  I  no  longer 
have  any  acquaintance  with  Monsieur  Honore 
Grandissime." 

They  told  Agamemnon  ;  and  it  would  have  gone 


448  The  Grandissimes 

hard  with  the  "  milatraise  "  but  for  the  additional 
fact  that  suspicion  had  fastened  upon  another 
person  ;  but  now  this  person  in  turn  had  to  be 
identified.  It  was  decided  not  to  report  progress  to 
old  Agricola,  but  to  wait  and  seek  further  develop- 
ments. Agricola,  having  lost  all  ability  to  sleep  in 
the  mansion,  moved  into  a  small  cottage  in  a  grove 
near  the  house.  But  the  very  next  morning,  he 
turned  cold  with  horror  to  find  on  his  doorstep 
a  small  black-coffined  doll,  with  pins  run  through 
the  heart,  a  burned-out  candle  at  the  head  and 
another  at  the  feet. 

"You  know  it  is  Palmyre,  do  you?"  asked 
Agamemnon,  seizing  the  old  man  as  he  was  going 
at  a  headlong  pace  through  the  garden  gate. 
"  What  if  I  should  tell  you  that  by  watching  the 
Congo  dancing-ground  at  midnight  to-night,  you 
will  see  the  real  author  of  this  mischief — eh  ?  " 

"  And  why  to-night?  " 

"  Because  the  moon  rises  at  midnight." 

There  was  firing  that  night  in  the  deserted  Congo 
dancing-grounds  under  the  ruins  of  Fort  St.  Joseph, 
or,  as  we  would  say  now,  in  Congo  Square,  from 
three  pistols  —  Agricola's,  'Polyte's,  and  the  weapon 
of  an  ill-defined,  retreating  figure  answering  the 
description  of  the  person  who  had  stabbed  Agricola 
the  preceding  February.  "  And  yet,"  said  'Polyte, 
"  I  would  have  sworn  that  it  was  Palmyre  doing 
this  work." 

Through  Raoul  these  events  came  to  the  ear  of 
Frowenfield.      It  was  about  the  time  that  Raoul's 


Caught  449 

fishing  party,  after  a  few  days'  mishaps,  had  returned 
home.  Palmyre,  on  several  later  dates,  had  craved 
further  audiences  and  shown  other  letters  from  the 
hidden  f.  m.  c.  She  had  heard  them  calmly,  and 
steadfastly  preserved  the  one  attitude  of  refusal. 
But  it  could  not  escape  Frowenfeld's  notice  that  she 
encouraged  the  sending  of  additional  letters.  He 
easily  guessed  the  courier  to  be  Clemence  ;  and  now, 
as  he  came  to  ponder  these  revelations  of  Raoul,  he 
found  that  within  twenty-four  hours  after  every  visit 
of  Clemence  to  the  house  of  Palmyre,  Agricola 
suffered  a  visitation. 


CHAPTER    LV 


The  fig-tree,  in  Louisiana,  sometimes  sheds  its 
leaves  while  it  is  yet  summer.  In  the  rear  of  the 
Grandissme  mansion,  about  two  hundred  yards 
northwest  of  it  and  fifty  northeast  of  the  cottage  in 
which  Agricola  had  made  his  new  abode,  on  the 
edge  of  the  grove  of  which  we  have  spoken,  stood 
one  of  these  trees,  whose  leaves  were  beginning  to 
lie  thickly  upon  the  ground  beneath  it.  An  ancient 
and  luxuriant  hedge  of  Cherokee-rose  started  from 
this  tree  and  stretched  toward  the  northwest  across 
the  level  country,  until  it  merged  into  the  green 
confusion  of  gardened  homes  in  the  vicinity  of 
Bayou  St.  Jean,  or,  by  night,  into  the  common 
29 


450  The  Grandissimes 

obscurity  of  a  starlit  perspective.  When  an  un- 
clouded moon  shone  upon  it,  it  cast  a  shadow  as 
black  as  velvet. 

Under  this  fig-tree,  some  three  hours  later  than 
that  at  which  Honore  bade  Joseph  good-night,  a 
man  was  stooping  down  and  covering  something  with 
the  broad,  fallen  leaves. 

"  The  moon  will  rise  about  three  o'clock,"  thought 
he.  "  That,  the  hour  of  universal  slumber,  will 
be,  by  all  odds,  the  time  most  likely  to  bring 
developments." 

He  was  the  same  person  who  had  spent  the  most 
of  the  day  in  a  blacksmith's  shop  in  St.  Louis  street, 
superintending  a  piece  of  smithing.  Now  that  he 
seemed  to  have  got  the  thing  well  hid,  he  turned  to 
the  base  of  the  tree  and  tried  the  security  of  some 
attachment.  Yes,  it  was  firmly  chained.  He  was 
not  a  robber ;  he  was  not  an  assassin  ;  he  was  not 
an  officer  of  police ;  and  what  is  more  notable, 
seeing  he  was  a  Louisianian,  he  was  not  a  soldier 
nor  even  an  ex-soldier ;  and  this  although,  under  his 
clothing,  he  was  encased  from  head  to  foot  in  a 
complete  suit  of  mail.  Of  steel  ?  No.  Of  brass  ? 
No.  It  was  all  one  piece — a  white  skin;  and  on 
his  head  he  wore  an  invisible  helmet  —  the  name  of 
Grandissime.  As  he  straightened  up  and  withdrew 
into  the  grove,  you  would  have  recognized  at  once 
—  by  his  thick-set,  powerful  frame,  clothed  seem- 
ingly in  black,  but  really,  as  you  might  guess,  in 
blue  cottonade,  by  his  black  beard  and  the  general 
look  of  a  seafarer  —  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  Gran- 


Caught  451 

dissime  mansion,  a  country  member  of  that  great 
family,  one  whom  we  saw  at  the  fete  de  grandpere. 

Capitain  Jean-Baptiste  Grandissime  was  a  man  of 
few  words,  no  sentiments,  short  methods  ;  material- 
istic, we  might  say;  quietly  ferocious;  indifferent  as 
to  means,  positive  as  to  ends,  quick  of  perception, 
sure  in  matters  of  saltpetre,  a  stranger  at  the  custom- 
house, and  altogether  —  take  him  right — very  much 
of  a  gentleman.  He  had  been,  for  a  whole  day, 
beset  with  the  idea  that  the  way  to  catch  a  voudou 
was  —  to  catch  him  ;  and  as  he  had  caught  numbers 
of  them  on  both  sides  of  the  tropical  and  semi- 
tropical  Atlantic,  he  decided  to  try  his  skill  privately 
on  the  one  who  —  his  experience  told  him  —  was 
likely  to  visit  Agricola's  doorstep  to-night.  All 
things  being  now  prepared,  he  sat  down  at  the  root 
of  a  tree  in  the  grove,  where  the  shadow  was  very 
dark,  and  seemed  quite  comfortable.  He  did  not 
strike  at  the  mosquitoes ;  they  appeared  to  under- 
stand that  he  did  not  wish  to  trifle.  Neither  did 
his  thoughts  or  feelings  trouble  him  ;  he  sat  and 
sharpened  a  small  penknife  on  his  boot. 

His  mind  —  his  occasional  transient  meditation 
—  was  the  more  comfortable  because  he  was  one  of 
those  few  who  had  coolly  and  unsentimentally  al- 
lowed Honore  Grandissime  to  sell  their  lands.  It 
continued  to  grow  plainer  every  day  that  the  grants 
with  which  theirs  were  classed  —  grants  of  old 
French  or  Spanish  under-officials  —  were  bad. 
Their  sagacious  cousin  seemed  to  have  struck  the 
right  standard,  and  while  those  titles  which  he  still 


452 


The  Grandissimes 


held  on  to  remained  unimpeached,  those  that  he  had 
parted  with  to  purchasers  —  as,  for  instance,  the 
grant  held  by  this  Capitain  Jean-Baptiste  Grandis- 
sime  —  could  be  bought  back  now  for  half  what  he 
had  got  for  it.  Certainly,  as  to  that,  the  Capitain 
might  well  have  that  quietude  of  mind  which  enabled 
him  to  find  occupation  in  perfecting  the  edge  of  his 
penknife  and  trimming  his  nails  in  the  dark. 

By  and  by  he  put  up  the  little  tool  and  sat  look- 
ing out  upon  the  prospect.  The  time  of  greatest 
probability  had  not  come,  but  the  voudou  might 
choose  not  to  wait  for  that ;  and  so  he  kept  watch. 
There  was  a  great  stillness.  The  cocks  had  finished 
a  round  and  were  silent.  No  dog  barked.  A  few 
tiny  crickets  made  the  quiet  land  seem  the  more 
deserted.  Its  beauties  were  not  entirely  overlooked 
—  the  innumerable  host  of  stars  above,  the  twinkle 
of  myriad  fireflies  on  the  dark  earth  below.  Be- 
tween a  quarter-  and  a  half-mile  away,  almost  in  a 
line  with  the  Cherokee  hedge,  was  a  faint  rise  of 
ground,  and  on  it  a  wide-spreading  live-oak.  There 
the  keen,  seaman's  eye  of  the  Capitain  came  to  a 
stop,  fixed  upon  a  spot  which  he  had  not  noticed 
before.  He  kept  his  eye  on  it,  and  waited  for  the 
stronger  light  of  the  moon. 

Presently  behind  the  grove  at  his  back  she  rose; 
and  almost  the  first  beam  that  passed  over  the  tops 
of  the  trees,  and  stretched  across  the  plain,  struck 
the  object  of  his  scrutiny.  What  was  it?  The 
ground,  he  knew ;  the  tree,  he  knew ;  he  knew 
there  ought  to  be  a  white  paling  enclosure  about  the 


Caught  453 

trunk  of  the  tree  :  for  there  were  buried  —  ah  !  —  he 
came  as  near  laughing  at  himself  as  ever  he  did  in 
his  life  ;  the  apothecary  of  the  rue  Royale  had  lately 
erected  some  marble  headstones  there,  and 

"  Oh  !  my  God  !  " 

While  Capitain  Jean-Baptiste  had  been  trying  to 
guess  what  the  tombstones  were,  a  woman  had  been 
coming  toward  him  in  the  shadow  of  the  hedge.  She 
was  not  expecting  to  meet  him;  she  did  not  know 
that  he  was  there ;  she  knew  she  had  risks  to  run, 
but  was  ignorant  of  what  they  were ;  she  did  not 
know  there  was  anything  under  the  fig-tree  which 
she  so  nearly  and  noiselessly  approached.  One 
moment  her  foot  was  lifted  above  the  spot  where 
the  unknown  object  lay  with  wide-stretched  jaws 
under  the  leaves,  and  the  next,  she  uttered  that  cry 
of  agony  and  consternation  which  interrupted  the 
watcher's  meditation.  She  was  caught  in  a  huge 
steel-trap. 

Capitain  Jean-Baptiste  Grandissime  remained  per- 
fectly still.  She  fell,  a  snarling,  struggling,  groaning 
heap,  to  the  ground,  wild  with  pain  and  fright,  and 
began  the  hopeless  effort  to  draw  the  jaws  of  the 
trap  apart  with  her  fingers. 

"  A h  !  ban  Dieu,  bon  Dieu  !  Quit  z-bi-i-i-i-tin 
me!  Oh!  Lawd  'a'  mussy  !  Ow-ow-ow !  lemme 
go  !  Dey  go'n'  to  kyetch  an'  hang  me  !  Oh  !  an* 
I  hain'  done  nutt'n'  'gainst  wobody  !  Ah  !  bon  Dieu! 
ein  pov  vie  negresse  !  Oh!  Jemimy  !  I  cyan'  gid 
dis  yeh  t'ing  loose  —  oh!  m-m-m-m  !  An'  dey '11 
tra  to  mek  out 't  I   voudou'  Mich-Agricole  !     An* 


454  The  Grandissimes 

I  didn'  had  nutt'n'  do  wid  it!  Oh  Lawd,  oh 
Lawd,  you  '11  be  mighty  good  ef  you  lemme  loose  ! 
I  'm  a  po'  nigga  !  Oh  !  dey  had  n'  ought  to  mek 
it  so  pow'ful !  " 

Hands,  teeth,  the  free  foot,  the  writhing  body, 
every  combination  of  available  forces  failed  to  spread 
the  savage  jaws,  though  she  strove  until  hands  and 
mouth  were  bleeding. 

Suddenly  she  became  silent ;  a  thought  of  pre- 
caution came  to  her;  she  lifted  from  the  earth  a 
burden  she  had  dropped  there,  struggled  to  a  half- 
standing  posture,  and,  with  her  foot  still  in  the  trap, 
was  endeavoring  to  approach  the  end  of  the  hedge 
near  by,  to  thrust  this  burden  under  it,  when  she 
opened  her  throat  in  a  speechless  ecstasy  of  fright 
on  feeling  her  arm  grasped  by  her  captor. 

"  O-o-o-h  !  Lawd  !  o-o-oh  !  Lawd  !  "  she  cried, 
in  a  frantic,  husky  whisper,  going  down  upon  her 
knees,  "  Oh,  Miche !  pou  Famou  du  bon  Dieu ! 
Pou  V  amou  du  bon  Dieu  ayexpiti'e  d'einpov  negresse  / 
Povy  negresse,  Miche,  w'at  nevva  done  nutt'n'  to  no- 
body on'y  jis  sell  c alas  I  I  iss  comin'  'long  an' 
step  inteh  dis-yeh  bah-trap  by  accident  !  Ah  !  Miche, 
Miche,  ple-e-ease  be  good  !  Ah  !  mon  Dieu  !  —  an' 
de  Lawd  '11  reward  you  —  'deed  'E  will,  Miche  !  " 

"  Qui  ci  ca  ?  "  asked  the  Capitain,  sternly,  stoop- 
ing and  grasping  her  burden,  which  she  had  been 
trying  to  conceal  under  herself. 

"  Oh,  Miche,  don'  trouble  dat !  Please  jes  tek 
dis  yeh  trap  offen  me  —  da's  all !  Oh,  don't, 
mawstah,  ple-e-ease  don'  spill  all  my  wash'n'  t'ings  ! 


Caught  455 

'Tain't  nutt'n'  but  my  old  dress  roll'  up  into  a  ball. 
Oh,  please  —  now,  you  see?  nutt'n'  but  a  po* 
nigga's  dr —  oh  !  fo  de  love  o  God,  Miche  Jean-Bap- 
tist e,  don  open  dat  ah  box  !  T'en  a  rien  du  tout  la- 
dans,  Miche  Jean-Baptiste ;  du  tout,  du  tout!  Oh, 
my  God  !  Miche,  on'y  jis  teck  dis-yeh  t'ing  off'n 
my  laig,  ef  yo'  please,  it's  bit'n'  me  lak  a  dawg!  — 
if  you  please,  Miche  !  Oh  !  you  git  kill*  if  you  open 
dat  ah  box,  Mawse  Jean-Baptiste !  Mo'  parole 
tfhonneur  le  plus  sacre  —  I  '11  kiss  de  cross  !  Oh, 
sweet  Miche  Jean,  laisse  moi  aller !  Nutt'n'  but 
some  dutty  close  la-dans."  She  repeated  this  again 
and  again,  even  after  Capitain  Jean-Baptiste  had 
disengaged  a  small  black  coffin  from  the  old  dress 
in  which  it  was  wrapped.  "Rien  du  tout,  Miche; 
nutt'n'  but  some  wash'n'  fo'  one  o'  de  boys." 

He  removed  the  lid  and  saw  within,  resting  on 
the  cushioned  bottom,  the  image,  in  myrtle-wax, 
moulded  and  painted  with  some  rude  skill,  of  a 
negro's  bloody  arm  cut  off  near  the  shoulder  —  a 
bras  coupe  —  with  a  dirk  grasped  in  its  hand. 

The  old  woman  lifted  her  eyes  to  heaven ;  her 
teeth  chattered ;  she  gasped  twice  before  she  could 
recover  utterance.  "  Oh,  Miche  Jean-Baptiste,  I 
di'  n'  mek  dat  ah  !  Mo'  t'e  pas  fe  ca  !  I  swea'  befo' 
God  !  Oh,  no,  no,  no  !  'Tain'  nutt'n'  nohow  but 
a  lill  play-toy,  Miche.  Oh,  sweet  Miche  Jean,  you 
not  gwan  to  kill  me?  I  di' n'  mek  it!  It  was  — 
ef  you  lemme  go,  I  tell  you  who  mek  it!  Sho 's  I 
live  I  tell  you,  Miche  yean  —  ef  you  lemme  go  ! 
Sho  's  God  's  good  to  me  —  ef  you  lemme  go  !     Oh, 


456  The  Grandissimes 

God  A'mighty,  Miche  Jean,  sho  's  God  's  good  to 
me." 

She  was  becoming  incoherent. 

Then  Capitain  Jean-Baptiste  Grandissime  for 
the   first  time  spoke  at  length  : 

"  Do  you  see  this  ?  "  he  spoke  the  French  of 
the  Atchafalaya.  He  put  his  long  flintlock  pistol 
close  to  her  face.  "  I  shall  take  the  trap  off;  you 
will  walk  three  feet  in  front  of  me;  if  you  make  it 
four  I  blow  your  brains  out ;  we  shall  go  to  Agri- 
cole.  But  right  here,  just  now,  before  I  count  ten, 
you  will  tell  me  who  sent  you  here;  at  the  word 
ten,  if  I  reach  it,  I  pull  the  trigger.  One  —  two  — 
three " 

"  Oh,  Miche,  she  gwan  to  gib  me  to  de  devil  wid 
houdou  ef  I  tell  you  —  Oh,  good  Lawdy  !  " 

But  he  did  not  pause. 

"  Four  —  five  —  six  —  seven  —  eight " 

"  Palmyre  !  "  gasped  the  negress,  and  grovelled 
on  the  ground. 

The  trap  was  loosened  from  her  bleeding  leg,  the 
burden  placed  in  her  arms,  and  they  disappeared  in 
the  direction  of  the  mansion. 

A  black  shape,  a  boy,  the  lad  who  had  carried 
the  basil  to  Frowenfeld,  rose  up  from  where  he  had 
all  this  time  lain,  close  against  the  hedge,  and  glided 
off  down  its  black  shadow  to  warn  the  philosophe. 

When  Clemence  was  searched,  there  was  found 
on  her  person  an  old  table-knife  with  its  end 
ground   to  a  point. 


Blood  for  a  Blow  457 


CHAPTER    LVI 

BLOOD     FOR    A    BLOW 

It  seems  to  be  one  of  the  self-punitive  character- 
istics of  tyranny,  whether  the  tyrant  be  a  man,  a 
community,  or  a  caste,  to  have  a  pusillanimous  fear 
of  its  victim.  It  was  not  when  Clemence  lay  in 
irons,  it  is  barely  now,  that  our  South  is  casting  off 
a  certain  apprehensive  tremor,  generally  latent,  but 
at  the  slightest  provocation  active,  and  now  and 
then  violent,  concerning  her  "  blacks."  This  fear, 
like  others  similar  elsewhere  in  the  world,  has 
always  been  met  by  the  same  one  antidote  —  ter- 
rific cruelty  to  the  tyrant's  victim.  So  we  shall 
presently  see  the  Grandissime  ladies,  deeming  them- 
selves compassionate,  urging  their  kinsmen  to 
"give  the  poor  wretch  a  sound  whipping  and  let 
her  go."  Ah  !  what  atrocities  are  we  unconsciously 
perpetrating  North  and  South  now,  in  the  name  of 
mercy  or  defence,  which  the  advancing  light  of  pro- 
gressive thought  will  presently  show  out  in  their 
enormity  ? 

Agricola  slept  late.  He  had  gone  to  his  room 
the  evening  before  much  incensed  at  the  presump- 
tion of  some  younger  Grandissimes  who  had  brought 
up  the  subject,  and  spoken  in  defence,  of  their 
cousin  Honore.  He  had  retired,  however,  not  to 
rest,  but  to  construct  an  engine  of  offensive  warfare 
which  would  revenge  him  a  hundred-fold  upon  the 


458  The  Grandissimes 

miserable  school  of  imported  thought  which  had 
sent  its  revolting  influences  to  the  very  Grandis- 
sime  hearthstone;  he  wrote  a  " P 'hillipique  Generate 
contre  la  Conduit e  du  Gouvernement  de  la  Louisiane," 
and  a  short  but  vigorous  chapter  in  English  on 
"  The  Insanity  of  Educating  the  Masses."  This  ac- 
complished, he  had  gone  to  bed  in  a  condition  of 
peaceful  elation,  eager  for  the  next  day  to  come 
that  he  might  take  these  mighty  productions  to 
Joseph  Frowenfeld,  and  make  him  a  present  of 
them  for  insertion  in  his  book  of  tables. 

Jean-Baptiste  felt  no  need  of  his  advice,  that  he 
should  rouse  him  ;  and,  for  a  long  time  before  the 
old  man  awoke,  his  younger  kinsmen  were  stirring 
about  unwontedly,  going  and  coming  through  the 
hall  of  the  mansion,  along  its  verandas  and  up  and 
down  its  outer  flight  of  stairs.  Gates  were  opening 
and  shutting,  errands  were  being  carried  by  negro 
boys  on  bareback  horses,  Charlie  Mandarin  of  St. 
Bernard  parish  and  an  Armand  Fusilier  from  Fau- 
bourg Ste.  Marie  had  on  some  account  come  —  as 
they  told  the  ladies  —  "to  take  breakfast;"  and 
the  ladies,  not  yet  informed,  amusedly  wondering 
at  all  this  trampling  and  stage  whispering,  were  up 
a  trifle  early.  In  those  days  Creole  society  was  a 
ship,  in  which  the  fair  sex  were  all  passengers  and 
the  ruder  sex  the  crew.  The  ladies  of  the  Gran- 
dissime  mansion  this  morning  asked  passengers' 
questions,  got  sailors'  answers,  retorted  wittily  and 
more  or  less  satirically,  and  laughed  often,  feeling 
their    constrained    insignificance.       However,    in    a 


Blood  for  a  Blow  459 

house  so  full  of  bright-eyed  children,  with  mothers 
and  sisters  of  all  ages  as  their  confederates,  the 
secret  was  soon  out,  and  before  Agricola  had  left 
his  little  cottage  in  the  grove  the  topic  of  all 
tongues  was  the  abysmal  treachery  and  ingratitude 
of  negro  slaves.  The  whole  tribe  of  Grandissime 
believed,  this  morning,  in  the  doctrine  of  total 
depravity  —  of  the   negro. 

And  right  in  the  face  of  this  belief,  the  ladies 
put  forth  the  generously  intentioned  prayer  for 
mercy.  They  were  answered  that  they  little  knew 
what  frightful  perils  they  were  thus  inviting  upon 
themselves. 

The  male  Grandissimes  were  not  surprised  at 
this  exhibition  of  weak  clemency  in  their  lovely 
women ;  they  were  proud  of  it ;  it  showed  the 
magnanimity  that  was  natural  to  the  universal 
Grandissime  heart,  when  not  restrained  and  re- 
pressed by  the  stern  necessities  of  the  hour.  But 
Agricola  disappointed  them.  Why  should  he 
weaken  and  hesitate,  and  suggest  delays  and  middle 
courses,  and  stammer  over  their  proposed  measures 
as  "extreme"?  In  very  truth,  it  seemed  as  though 
that  drivelling,  woman-beaten  Deutsch  apotheke  — 
ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  —  in  the  rue  Royale  had  bewitched 
Agricola  as  well  as  Honore.  The  fact  was,  Agric- 
ola had  never  got  over  the  interview  which  had 
saved  Sylvestre  his  life. 

"  Here,  Agricole,"  his  kinsmen  at  length  said, 
"  you  see  you  are  too  old  for  this  sort  of  thing ; 
besides,  it  would  be  bad  taste  for  you,  who  might 


460  The  Grandissimes 

be  presumed  to  harbor  feelings  of  revenge,  to  have 
a  voice  in  this  council."  And  then  they  added  to 
one  another :  "  We  will  wait  until  'Polyte  reports 
whether  or  not  they  have  caught  Palmyre  ;  much 
will  depend  on  that." 

Agricola,  thus  ruled  out,  did  a  thing  he  did  not 
fully  understand ;  he  rolled  up  the  "  Philippique 
Generate"  and  "The  Insanity  of  Educating  the 
Masses,"  and,  with  these  in  one  hand  and  his  staff 
in  the  other,  set  out  for  Frowenfeld's,  not  merely 
smarting  but  trembling  under  the  humiliation  of 
having  been  sent,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  to 
the  rear  as  a  non-combatant. 

He  found  the  apothecary  among  his  clerks,  pre- 
paring with  his  own  hands  the  "  chalybeate  tonic" 
for  which  the  f.  m.  c.  was  expected  to  call.  Raoul 
Innerarity  stood  at  his  elbow,  looking  on  with  an 
amiable  air  of  having  been  superseded  for  the 
moment  by  his  master. 

"  Ha-ah  !     Professor  Frowenfeld  !  " 

The  old  man  flourished  his  scroll. 

Frowenfeld  said  good-morning,  and  they  shook 
hands  across  the  counter ;  but  the  old  man's  grasp 
was  so  tremulous  that  the  apothecary  looked  at  him 
again. 

"Does  my  hand  tremble,  Joseph?  It  is  not 
strange ;  I  have  had  much  to  excite  me  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Wat's  de  mattah  ?  "  demanded  Raoul,  quickly. 

"  My  life  —  which  I  admit,  Professor  Frowen- 
feld, is  of  little  value  compared  with  such  a  one  as 


Blood  for  a  Blow  461 

yours  —  has  been  —  if  not  attempted,  at  least 
threatened." 

"  How  ?  "  cried  Raoul. 

"  H-really,  Professor,  we  must  agree  that  a  trifle 
like  that  ought  not  to  make  old  Agricola  Fusilier 
nervous.  But  I  find  it  painful,  sir,  very  painful. 
I  can  lift  up  this  right  hand,  Joseph,  and  swear  I 
never  gave  a  slave  —  man  or  woman  —  a  blow  in 
my  life  but  according  to  my  notion  of  justice. 
And  now  to  find  my  life  attempted  by  former  slaves 
of  my  own  household,  and  taunted  with  the  right- 
eous hamstringing  of  a  dangerous  runaway  !  But 
they  have  apprehended  the  miscreants ;  one  is  act- 
ually in  hand,  and  justice  will  take  its  course  ;  trust 
the  Grandissimes  for  that  —  though,  really,  Joseph, 
I  assure  you,  I  counselled  leniency." 

"  Do  you  say  they  have  caught  her  ?  "  Frowen- 
feld's  question  was  sudden  and  excited ;  but  the 
next  moment  he  had  controlled  himself. 

"  H-h-my  son,  I  did  not  say  it  was  a    '  her ' !  " 

"  Was  it  not  Clemence  ?    Have  they  caught  her  ?  " 

"  H-yes " 

The  apothecary  turned  to  Raoul. 

"  Go  tell  Honore  Grandissime." 

"But,  Professor  Frowenfeld "  began  Agri- 
cola. 

Frowenfeld  turned  to  repeat  his  instruction,  but 
Raoul  was  already  leaving  the  store. 

Agricola  straightened  up  angrily. 

"  Pro-hofessor  Frowenfeld,  by  what  right  do  you 
interfere  ?  " 


462  The  Grandissimes 

"  No  matter,"  said  the  apothecary,  turning  half- 
way and  pouring  the  tonic  into  a  vial. 

"  Sir,"  thundered  the  old  lion,  "  h-I  demand  of 
you  to  answer !  How  dare  you  insinuate  that  my 
kinsmen  may  deal  otherwise  than  justly  ?  " 

"  Will  they  treat  her  exactly  as  if  she  were  white, 
and  had  threatened  the  life  of  a  slave  ? "  asked 
Frowenfeld  from  behind  the  desk  at  the  end  of  the 
counter. 

The  old  man  concentrated  all  the  indignation  of 
his  nature  in  the  reply. 

"  No-ho,  sir !  " 

As  he  spoke,  a  shadow  approaching  from  the 
door  caused  him  to  turn.  The  tall,  dark,  finely 
clad  form  of  the  f.  m.  c,  in  its  old  soft-stepping 
dignity  and  its  sad  emaciation,  came  silently  toward 
the  spot  where  he  stood. 

Frowenfeld  saw  this,  and  hurried  forward  inside 
the  counter  with  the  preparation  in  his  hand. 

"Professor  Frowenfeld,"  said  Agricola,  pointing 
with  his  ugly  staff",  "  I  demand  of  you,  as  a  keeper 
of  a  white  man's  pharmacy,  to  turn  that  negro 
out." 

"  Citizen  Fusilier  !  "  exclaimed  the  apothecary  ; 
"  Mister  Grandis " 

He  felt  as  though  no  price  would  be  too  dear  at 
that  moment  to  pay  for  the  presence  of  the  other 
Honore.  He  had  to  go  clear  to  the  end  of  the 
counter  and  come  down  the  outside  again  to  reach 
the  two  men.  They  did  not  wait  for  him.  Agricola 
turned  upon  the  f.  m.  c. 


Blood  for  a  Blow  463 

"  Take  off  your  hat  !  " 

A  sudden  activity  seized  every  one  connected 
with  the  establishment  as  the  quadroon  let  his  thin 
right  hand  slowly  into  his  bosom,  and  answered  in 
French,  in  his  soft,  low  voice : 

"  I  wear  my  hat  on  my  head." 

Frowenfeld  was  hurrying  toward  them ;  others 
stepped  forward,  and  from  two  or  three  there  came 
half-uttered  exclamations  of  protest ;  but  unfortu- 
nately nothing  had  been  done  or  said  to  provoke 
any  one  to  rush  upon  them,  when  Agricola  sud- 
denly advanced  a  step  and  struck  the  f.  m.  c.  on  the 
head  with  his  staff.  Then  the  general  outcry  and 
forward  rush  came  too  late ;  the  two  crashed  to- 
gether and  tell,  Agricola  above,  the  f.  m.  c.  below, 
and  a  long  knife  lifted  up  from  underneath  sank 
to  its  hilt,  once  —  twice  —  thrice,  —  in  the  old  man's 
back. 

The  two  men  rose,  one  in  the  arms  of  his 
friends,  the  other  upon  his  own  feet.  While  every 
one's  attention  was  directed  toward  the  wounded 
man,  his  antagonist  restored  his  dagger  to  its 
sheath,  took  up  his  hat  and  walked  away  un- 
molested. When  Frowenfeld,  with  Agricola  still 
in  his  arms,  looked  around  for  the  quadroon,  he 
was  gone. 

Doctor  Keene,  sent  for  instantly,  was  soon  at 
Agricola's  side. 

"  Take  him  upstairs ;  he  can't  be  moved  any 
further." 

Frowenfeld   turned   and   began  to  instruct  some 


464  The  Grandissimes 

one   to   run   upstairs   and   ask   permission,  but  the 
little  doctor  stopped  him. 

"  Joe,  for  shame  !  you  don't  know  those  women 
better  than  that  ?     Take  the  old  man  right  up  !  " 


CHAPTER    LVII 

VOUDOU    CURED 

"  Honore,"  said  Agricola,  faintly,  "  where  is 
Honore !  " 

"  He  has  been  sent  for,"  said  Doctor  Keene  and 
the  two  ladies  in  a  breath. 

Raoul,  bearing  the  word  concerning  Clemence, 
and  the  later  messenger  summoning  him  to  Agric- 
ola's  bedside,  reached  Honore  within  a  minute  of 
each  other.  His  instructions  were  quickly  given, 
for  Raoul  to  take  his  horse  and  ride  down  to  the 
family  mansion,  to  break  gently  to  his  mother  the 
news  of  Agricola's  disaster,  and  to  say  to  his  kins- 
men with  imperative  emphasis,  not  to  touch  the 
marchande  des  calas  till  he  should  come.  Then  he 
hurried  to  the  rue  Royale. 

But  when  Raoul  arrived  at  the  mansion  he  saw 
at  a  glance  that  the  news  had  outrun  him.  The 
family  carriage  was  already  coming  round  the 
bottom  of  the  front  stairs  for  three  Mesdames 
Grandissime  and  Madame  Martinez.  The  chil- 
dren on  all  sides  had  dropped  their  play,  and  stood 
about,   hushed  and  staring.     The   servants  moved 


Voudou  Cured  465 

with  quiet  rapidity.      In  the  hall  he  was  stopped  by 
two  beautiful  girls. 

"  Raoul !  Oh,  Raoul,  how  is  he  now  ?  Oh  ! 
Raoul,  if  you  could  only  stop  them !  They  have 
taken  old  Clemence  down  into  the  swamp  —  as 
soon  as  they  heard  about  Agricole  —  Oh,  Raoul, 
surely  that  would  be  cruel  !  She  nursed  me  —  and 
me  — when  we  were  babies  !  " 

"Where  is  Agamemnon  ?  " 

"  Gone  to  the  city." 

"  What  did  he  say  about  it  ?  " 

"  He  said  they  were  doing  wrong,  that  he  did 
not  approve  their  action,  and  that  they  would  get 
themselves  into  trouble  :  that  he  washed  his  hands 
of  it." 

"  Ah-h-h  !  "  exclaimed  Raoul,  "  wash  his  hands  ! 
Oh,  yes,  wash  his  hands  ?  Suppose  we  all  wash  our 
hands?  But  where  is  Valentine  ?  Where  is  Charlie 
Mandarin  ? " 

"Ah  !  Valentine  is  gone  with  Agamemnon,  say- 
ing the  same  thing,  and  Charlie  Mandarin  is  down 
in  the  swamp,  the  worst  of  all  of  them  !  " 

"  But  why  did  you  let  Agamemnon  and  Valentine 
go  off  that  way,  you  ?  " 

"  Ah !  listen  to  Raoul !  What  can  a  woman 
do?" 

"  What  can  a  woman  —  Well,  even  if  I  was  a 
woman,  I  would  do  something !  " 

He  hurried  from  the  house,  leaped  into  the 
saddle  and  galloped  across  the  fields  toward  the 
forest. 

3° 


466  The  Grandissimes 

Some  rods  within  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  which, 
at  this  season,  was  quite  dry  in  many  places,  on  a 
spot  where  the  fallen  dead  bodies  of  trees  overlay 
one  another  and  a  dense  growth  of  willows  and 
vines  and  dwarf  palmetto  shut  out  the  light  of  the 
open  fields,  the  younger  and  some  of  the  harsher 
senior  members  of  the  Grandissime  family  were 
sitting  or  standing  about,  in  an  irregular  circle 
whose  centre  was  a  big  and  singularly  misshapen 
water-willow.  At  the  base  of  this  tree  sat  Clem- 
ence,  motionless  and  silent,  a  wan,  sickly  color  in 
her  face,  and  that  vacant  look  in  her  large,  white- 
balled,  brown-veined  eyes,  with  which  hope-for- 
saken cowardice  waits  for  death.  Somewhat  apart 
from  the  rest,  on  an  old  cypress  stump,  half-stood, 
half-sat,  in  whispered  consultation,  Jean-Baptiste 
Grandissime  and   Charlie   Mandarin. 

"Eh  bien,  old  woman,"  said  Mandarin,  turning, 
without  rising,  and  speaking  sharply  in  the  negro 
French,  "  have  you  any  reason  to  give  why  you 
should  not  be  hung  to  that  limb  over  your  head  ?  " 

She  lifted  her  eyes  slowly  to  his,  and  made  a 
feeble  gesture  of  deprecation. 

"  Mo  te  pas  f'e  cette  bras,  Mawse  Challie  —  I 
di'n't  mek  dat  ahm ;  no  'ndeed  I  di'n',  Mawse 
Challie.  I  ain'  wuth  hangin',  gen'lemen ;  you  'd 
oughteh  jis  gimme  fawty  an'  lemme  go.  I  —  I  —  I 
—  I  di'n'  'ten'  no  hawm  to  Mawse-Agricole ;  I 
wa'n't  gwan  to  hu't  nobody  in  God's  worl'  ;  'ndeed 
I  wasn'.  I  done  tote  dat  old  case-knife  fo'  twenty 
year'  —  mo  po'te  $a  dipt  vingt  ans.     I  'm  a  po'  ole 


Voudou  Cured  467 

marchande  des  calas ;  mo  courri  'mongs'  de  sojer 
boys  to  sell  my  cakes,  you  know,  and  da's  de 
onyest  reason  why  I  cyah  dat  ah  ole  fool  knife." 
She  seemed  to  take  some  hope  from  the  silence 
with  which  they  heard  her.  Her  eye  brightened 
and  her  voice  took  a  tone  of  excitement.  "  You  'd 
oughteh  tek  me  and  put  me  in  calaboose,  an'  let 
de  law  tek  'is  co'se.  You 's  all  nice  gen'lemen  — 
werry  nice  gen'lemen,  an'  you  sorter  owes  it  to 
yo'sev's  fo'  to  not  do  no  sich  nasty  wuck  as  hangin' 
a  po'  ole  nigga  wench ;  'deed  you  does.  'T  ain'  no 
use  to  hang  me ;  you  gwan  to  kyetch  Palmyre  yit ; 
//'  courri  dans  marais ;  she  is  in  de  swamp  yeh, 
sum'ers ;  but  as  concernin'  me,  you  'd  oughteh  jis 
gimme  fawty  an  lemme  go.  You  mus'n't  b'lieve 
all  dis-yeh  nonsense  'bout  insurrectionin' ;  all  fool- 
nigga  talk.  Wat  we  want  to  be  insurrectionin' 
faw  ?  We  de  happies'  people  in  de  God's  worl'  !  " 
She  gave  a  start,  and  cast  a  furtive  glance  of  alarm 
behind  her.  "Yes,  we  is  ;  you  jis'  oughteh  gimme 
fawty  an'  lemme  go  !  Please,  gen'lemen  !  God  '11 
be  good  to  you,  you  nice,  sweet  gen'lemen  !  " 

Charlie  Mandarin  made  a  sign  to  one  who  stood 
at  her  back,  who  responded  by  dropping  a  rawhide 
noose  over  her  head.  She  bounded  up  with  a  cry 
of  terror ;  it  may  be  that  she  had  all  along  hoped 
that  all  was  make-believe.  She  caught  the  noose 
wildly  with  both  hands  and  tried  to  lift  it  over  her 
head. 

"Ah!  no,  mawsteh,  you  cyan'  do  dat!  It's 
ag'in'  de  law  !      I  's  'bleeged  to  have  my  trial,  yit. 


468  The  Grandissimes 

Oh,  no,  no!  Oh,  good  God,  no!  Even  if  I  is  a 
nigga !  You  cyan'  jis'  murdeh  me  hyeh  in  de 
woods  !  Mo  dis  la  zize  I  I  tell  de  judge  on  you  ! 
You  am'  got  no  mo'  biznis  to  do  me  so  'an  if  I 
was  a  white  'oman  !  You  dassent  tek  a  white 
'omanout'n  de  Pa'sh  Pris'n  an'  do  'er  so  !  Oh, 
sweet  mawsteh,  fo'  de  love  o'  God  !  Oh,  Mawse 
Challie,  pou  I'amou  du  bon  Dieu  n'fe  pas  ca !  Oh, 
Mawse  'Polyte,  is  you  gwan  to  let  'em  kill  ole 
Clemence?  Oh,  fo'  de  mussy  o'  Jesus  Christ, 
Mawse  'Polyte,  leas'  of  all,  you!  You  dassent  help 
to  kill  me,  Mawse  'Polyte  !  You  knows  why  !  Oh 
God,  Mawse  'Polyte,  you  knows  why  !  Leas'  of 
all  you,  Mawse  'Polyte!  Oh,  God  'a'  mussy  on 
my  wicked  ole  soul  !  I  aint  fitt'n  to  die !  Oh, 
gen'lemen,  I  kyan'  look  God  in  de  face  !  Oh, 
Miches,  ayez  pitie  de  moin  !  Oh,  God  A' mighty  ha' 
mussy  on  my  soul!  Oh,  gen'lemen,  dough  yo'  kin- 
folks  kyvvah  up  yo'  tricks  now,  dey  '11  dwap  f'um 
undeh  you  some  day  !  Sole  leve  la,  li  couch'e  la ! 
Yo'  tu'n  will  come  !  Oh,  God  A'mighty!  de  God 
o'  de  po'  nigga  wench  !  Look  down,  oh  God,  look 
down  an'  stop  dis  yeh  foolishness  !  Oh,  God,  fo' 
de  love  o'  Jesus  !  Oh,  Miches,  y  en  a  ein  zizement ! 
Oh,  yes,  deh's  a  judgmen'  day  !  Den  it  wont  be 
a  bit  o'  use  to  you  to  be  white  !  Oh,  oh,  oh,  oh, 
oh,  oh,  fo',  fo',  fo',  de,  de,  love  0'  God!  Oh  !  " 

They  drew  her  up. 

Raoul  was  not  far  off.  He  heard  the  woman's 
last  cry,  and  came  threshing  through  the  bushes  on 
foot.      He   saw   Sylvestre,  unconscious   of  any  ap- 


Vondou   Cured  469 

proach,  spring  forward,  jerk  away  the  hands  that 
had  drawn  the  thong  over  the  branch,  let  the 
strangling  woman  down  and  loosen  the  noose. 
Her  eyes,  starting  out  with  horror,  turned  to  him  ; 
she  fell  on  her  knees  and  clasped  her  hands.  The 
tears  were  rolling  down  Sylvestre's  face. 

"  My  friends,  we  must  not  do  this  !  You  shall 
not  do  it !  " 

He  hurled  away,  with  twice  his  natural  strength, 
one  who  put  out  a  hand. 

"  No,  sirs  !  "  cried  Raoul,  "you  shall  not  do  it ! 
I  come  from  Honore  !     Touch  her  who  dares  !  " 

He  drew  a  weapon. 

"Monsieur  Innerarity,"  said  'Polyte,  "who  is 
Monsieur  Honore  Grandissime  ?  There  are  two 
of  the  name,  you  know,  —  partners  —  brothers. 
Which  of — but  it  makes  no  difference;  before 
either  of  them  sees  this  assassin  she  is  going  to  be  a 
lump  of  nothing  !  " 

The  next  word  astonished  every  one.  It  was 
Charlie  Mandarin  who  spoke. 

"  Let  her  go  !  " 

"  Let  her  go  !  "  said  Jean-Baptiste  Grandissime  ; 
"  give  her  a  run  for  life.  Old  woman,  rise  up.  We 
propose  to  let  you  go.  Can  you  run  ?  Never 
mind,  we  shall  see.  Achille,  put  her  upon  her  feet. 
Now,  old  woman,  run  !  " 

She  walked  rapidly,  but  with  unsteady  feet,  toward 
the  fields. 

"  Run  !  If  you  don't  run  I  will  shoot  you  this 
minute  !  " 


470  The  Grandissimes 

She  ran. 

"  Faster !  " 

She  ran  faster. 

"Run!" 

"  Run ! " 

"  Run,  Clemence  !  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  It  was  so 
funny  to  see  her  scuttling  and  tripping  and 
stumbling.  "Courri!  courri,  Clemence!  c'est  pou 
to   vie!    ha,  ha,  ha " 

A  pistol-shot  rang  out  close  behind  Raoul's  ear ; 
it  was  never  told  who  fired  it.  The  negress  leaped 
into  the  air  and  fell  at  full  length  to  the  ground, 
stone  dead. 


CHAPTER    LVIII 

DYING    WORDS 

Drivers  of  vehicles  in  the  rue  Royale  turned 
aside  before  two  slight  barriers  spanning  the  way, 
one  at  the  corner  below,  the  other  at  that  above,  the 
house  where  the  aged  high-priest  of  a  doomed  civil- 
ization lay  bleeding  to  death.  The  floor  of  the 
store  below,  the  pavement  of  the  corridor  where 
stood  the  idle  volante,  were  covered  with  straw,  and 
servants  came  and  went  by  the  beckoning  of  the 
hand. 

"  This  way,"  whispered  a  guide  of  the  four  ladies 
from  the  Grandissime  mansion.  As  Honore's 
mother  turned  the  angle  half-way  up  the  muffled 
stair,  she  saw  at  the  landing  above,  standing  as  if 


Dying  Words  471 

about  to  part,  yet  in  grave  council,  a  man  and  a 
woman,  the  fairest  —  she  noted  it  even  in  this  mo- 
ment of  extreme  distress  —  she  had  ever  looked 
upon.  He  had  already  set  one  foot  down  upon  the 
stair,  but  at  sight  of  the  ascending  group  drew  back 
and  said : 

"It  is  my  mother;"  then  turned  to  his  mother 
and  took  her  hand ;  they  had  been  for  months 
estranged,  but  now  they  silently  kissed. 

"  He  is  sleeping,"  said  Honore.  "  Maman, 
Madame  Nancanou." 

The  ladies  bowed  —  the  one  looking  very  large 
and  splendid,  the  other  very  sweet  and  small.  There 
was  a  single  instant  of  silence,  and  Aurora  burst  into 
tears. 

For  a  moment  Madame  Grandissime  assumed  a 
frown  that  was  almost  a  reminder  of  her  brother's, 
and  then  the  very  pride  of  the  Fusiliers  broke  down. 
She  uttered  an  inaudible  exclamation,  drew  the 
weeper  firmly  into  her  bosom,  and  with  streaming 
eyes  and  choking  voice,  but  yet  with  majesty,  whis- 
pered, laying  her  hand  on  Aurora's  head  : 

"  Never  mind,  my  child ;  never  mind ;  never 
mind." 

And  Honore's  sister,  when  she  was  presently  in- 
troduced, kissed  Aurora  and  murmured  : 

"The  good  God  bless  thee!  It  is  He  who  has 
brought  us  together." 

"  Who  is  with  him  just  now  ? "  whispered  the 
two  other  ladies,  while  Honore  and  his  mother 
stood  a  moment  aside  in   hurried  consultation. 


472 


The  Grandissimes 


"  My  daughter,"  said  Aurora,  "and " 

"  Agamemnon,"  suggested  Madame  Martinez. 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  Aurora. 

Valentine  appeared  from  the  direction  of  the  sick- 
room and  beckoned  to  Honore.  Doctor  Keene 
did  the  same  and  continued  to  advance. 

"  Awake  ?  "  asked  Honore. 

"  Yes." 

"  Alas  !  my  brother  !  "  said  Madame  Grandissime, 
and  started  forward,  followed  by  the  other  women. 

"  Wait,"  said  Honore,  and  they  paused.  "  Char- 
lie," he  said,  as  the  little  doctor  persistently  pushed 
by  him  at  the  head  of  the  stair. 

"Oh,  there's  no  chance,  Honore,  you'd  as  well 
all  go  in  there." 

They  gathered  into  the  room  and  about  the  bed. 
Madame  Grandissime  bent  over  it. 

"  Ah  !  sister,"  said  the  dying  man,  "  is  that  you  ? 
I  had  the  sweetest  dream  just  now — just  for  a 
minute."  He  sighed.  "  I  feel  very  weak.  Where 
is  Charlie  Keene  ?  " 

He  had  spoken  in  French ;  he  repeated  his 
question  in  English.  He  thought  he  saw  the 
doctor. 

"  Charlie,  if  I  must  meet  the  worst  I  hope  you 
will  tell  me  so ;  I  am  fully  prepared.  Ah  !  excuse 
—  I  thought  it  was 

"  My  eyes  seem  dim  this  evening.  Est-ce-vous, 
Honore  ?  Ah,  Honore,  you  went  over  to  the 
enemy,  did  you  ?  —  Well,  —  the  Fusilier  blood 
would  al — ways  —  do  as  it  pleased.     Here's  your 


Dying  Words  473 

old  uncle's  hand,  Honore.      I  forgive  you,  Honore 

—  my  noble-hearted,  foolish  —  boy."  He  spoke 
feebly,  and  with  great  nervousness. 

"  Water." 

It  was  given  him  by  Aurora.  He  looked  in  her 
face ;  they  could  not  be  sure  whether  he  recognized 
her  or  not.  He  sank  back,  closed  his  eyes,  and 
said,  more  sofdy  and  dreamily,  as  if  to  himself,  "  I 
forgive  everybody.     A  man  must  die  —  I   forgive 

—  even  the  enemies  —  of  Louisiana." 

He  lay  still  a  few  moments,  and  then  revived 
excitedly.  "  Honore  !  tell  Professor  Frowenfeld  to 
take  care  of  that  Philippique  Generate.  'T  is  a  grand 
thing,  Honore,  on  a  grand  theme  !  I  wrote  it  myself 
in  one  evening.  Your  Yankee  Government  is  a 
failure,  Honore,  a  drivelling  failure.  It  may  live  a 
year  or  two,  not  longer.  Truth  will  triumph.  The 
old  Louisiana  will  rise  again.      She  will  get  back  her 

trampled  rights.       When  she  does,  remem' " 

His  voice  failed,  but  he  held  up  one  finger  firmly 
by  way  of  accentuation. 

There  was  a  stir  among  the  kindred.  Surely  this 
was  a  turn  for  the  better.  The  doctor  ought  to  be 
brought  back.  A  little  while  ago  he  was  not  nearly 
so  strong.  "  Ask  Honore  if  the  doctor  should  not 
come."  But  Honore  shook  his  head.  The  old 
man  began  again. 

"  Honore  !  Where  is  Honore  ?  Stand  by  me, 
here,  Honore  ;  and  sister  ?  —  on  this  other  side. 
My  eyes  are  very  poor  to-day.  Why  do  I  perspire 
so  ?      Give  me  a  drink.      You  see  —  I   am  better 


474 


The  Grandissimes 


now  ;  I  have  ceased  —  to  throw  up  blood.  Nay, 
let  me  talk."  He  sighed,  closed  his  eyes,  and  opened 
them  again  suddenly.  "  Oh,  Honore,  you  and  the 
Yankees  —  you  and  —  all  —  going  wrong  —  educa- 
tion —  masses  —  weaken  —  caste  —  indiscr' —  quar- 
rels settl'  — by  affidav'  —  Oh  !  Honore." 

"  If  he  would  only  forget,"  said  one,  in  an  ago- 
nized whisper,  "  that  philippique  generate  !  " 

Aurora  whispered  earnestly  and  tearfully  to 
Madame  Grandissime.  Surely  they  were  not  going 
to  let  him  go  thus  !  A  priest  could  at  least  do  no 
harm.  But  when  the  proposition  was  made  to  him 
by  his  sister,  he  said  : 

"  No;  —  no  priest.  You  have  my  will,  Honore, 
—  in  your  iron  box.  Professor  Frowenfeld,"  —  he 
changed  his  speech  to  English,  —  "I  have  written 
you  an  article  on  —  "his  words  died  on  his  lips. 

"  Joseph,  son,  I  do  not  see  you.  Beware,  my 
son,  of  the  doctrine  of  equal  rights  —  a  bottomless 
iniquity.  Master  and  man  —  arch  and  pier  —  arch 
above  —  pier  below."  He  tried  to  suit  the  gesture 
to  the  words,  but  both  hands  and  feet  were  growing 
uncontrollably  restless. 

"  Society,  Professor,"  —  he  addressed  himself  to 
a  weeping  girl,  —  "society  has  pyramids  to  build 
which  make  menials  a  necessity,  and  Nature  furnishes 
the  menials  all  in  dark  uniform.  She — I  cannot 
tell  you  —  you  will  find  —  all  in  the  Philippique 
Generate.     Ah  !  Honore,  is  it " 

He  suddenly  ceased. 

"  I  have  lost  my  glasses." 


Dying  Words  475 

Beads  of  sweat  stood  out  upon  his  face.  He 
grew  frightfully  pale.  There  was  a  general  dismayed 
haste,  and  they  gave  him  a  stimulant. 

"  Brother,"  said  the  sister,  tenderly. 

He  did  not  notice  her. 

"  Agamemnon  !     Go  and  tell  Jean-Baptiste " 

his  eyes  drooped  and  flashed  again  wildly. 

"  I  am  here,  Agricole,"  said  the  voice  of  Jean- 
Baptiste,  close  beside  the  bed. 

"  I  told  you  to  let  —  that  negress " 

"Yes,  we  have  let  her  go.  We  have  let  all  of 
them  go." 

"  All  of  them,"  echoed  the  dying  man,  feebly, 
with  wandering  eyes.  Suddenly  he  brightened  again 
and  tossed  his  arms.  "  Why,  there  you  were  wrong, 
Jean-Baptiste ;  the  community  must  be  protected." 
His  voice  sank  to  a  murmur.  "  He  would  not  take 
off — you  must  remem' — "  He  was  silent.  "You 
must  remem' — those  people  are  —  are  not — white 
people."  He  ceased  a  moment.  "Where  am  I 
going?"  He  began  evidently  to  look,  or  try  to 
look,  for  some  person  ;  but  they  could  not  divine 
his  wish  until,  with  piteous  feebleness,  he  called  : 

"  Aurore  De  Grapion  !  " 

So  he  had  known  her  all  the  time. 

Honore's  mother  had  dropped  on  her  knees 
beside  the  bed,  dragging    Aurora  down    with  her. 

They  rose  together. 

The  old  man  groped  distressfully  with  one  hand. 
She  laid  her  own  in  it. 

"  Honore  ! 


476  The  Grandissimes 

"  What  could  he  want  ?  "  wondered  the  tearful 
family.  He  was  feeling  about  with  the  other 
hand. 

"  Hon' —  Honore  "  —  his  weak  clutch  could 
scarcely  close  upon  his  nephew's  hand. 

"  Put  them  —  put  —  put  them " 

What  could  it  mean  ?     The  four  hands  clasped. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  one,  with  fresh  tears,  "  he  is  trying 
to  speak  and  cannot." 

But  he  did. 

"Aurora  De  Gra — I  pledge'  —  pledge' — pledged 
—  this  union  —  to  your  fa' —  father  —  twenty  — 
years  —  ago." 

The  family  looked  at  each  other  in  dejected 
amazement.     They  had  never  known  it. 

"  He  is  going,"  said  Agamemnon  ;  and  indeed  it 
seemed  as  though  he  was  gone ;  but  he  rallied. 

"  Agamemnon  !  Valentine  !  Honore  !  patriots  ! 
protect  the  race  !  Beware  of  the  " —  that  sentence 
escaped  him.  He  seemed  to  fancy  himself  ha- 
ranguing a  crowd  ;  made  another  struggle  for  in- 
telligence, tried  once,  twice,  to  speak,  and  the  third 
time  succeeded  : 

"  Louis' —  Louisian' —  a  —  for  —  ever!  "  and  lay 
still. 

They  put  those  two  words  on  his  tomb. 


Where  Some  Creole  Money  Goes     477 
CHAPTER  LIX 

WHERE    SOME    CREOLE    MONEY    GOES 

And  yet  the  family  committee  that  ordered  the 
inscription,  the  mason  who  cut  it  in  the  marble  — 
himself  a  sort  of  half-Grandissime,  half-nobody  — 
and  even  the  fair  women  who  each  eve  of  All-Saints 
came,  attended  by  flower-laden  slave  girls,  to  lay 
coronals  upon  the  old  man's  tomb,  felt,  feebly  at 
first,  and  more  and  more  distinctly  as  years  went 
by,  that  Forever  was  a  trifle  long  for  one  to  confine 
one's  patriotic  affection  to  a  small  fraction  of  a  great 
country. 

"  And  you  say  your  family  decline  to  accept  the 
assistance  of  the  police  in  their  endeavors  to  bring 
the  killer  of  your  uncle  to  justice  ?  "  asked  some 
Am'ericain  or  other  of  'Polyte  Grandissime. 

"  'Sir,  mie  fam'lie  do  not  want  to  fetch  him  to 
justice  !  —  neither  Palmyre  !  We  are  goin'  to  fetch 
the  justice  to  them  !  And  sir,  when  we  cannot  do 
that,  sir,  by  ourselves,  sir, —  no,  sir  !  no  police  !  " 

So  Clemence  was  the  only  victim  of  the  family 
wrath  ;  for  the  other  two  were  never  taken  ;  and  it 
helps  our  good  feeling  for  the  Grandissimes  to  know 
that  in  later  times,  under  the  gentler  influences  of  a 
higher  civilization,  their  old  Spanish-colonial  ferocity 
was  gradually  absorbed  by  the  growth  of  better 
traits.     To-day    almost  all    the  savagery   that    can 


478  The  Grandissimes 

justly  be  charged  against  Louisiana  must  —  strange 
to  say  —  be  laid  at  the  door  of  the  Am'ericain.  The 
Creole  character  has  been  diluted  and  sweetened. 

One  morning  early  in  September,  some  two 
weeks  after  the  death  of  Agricola,  the  same  brig 
which  something  less  than  a  year  before  had 
brought  the  Frowenfelds  to  New  Orleans  crossed, 
outward  bound,  the  sharp  line  dividing  the  some- 
times tawny  waters  of  Mobile  Bay  from  the  deep 
blue  Gulf,  and  bent  her  way  toward  Europe. 

She  had  two  passengers ;  a  tall,  dark,  wasted  yet 
handsome  man  of  thirty-seven  or  thirty-eight  years 
of  age,  and  a  woman  seemingly  some  three  years 
younger,  of  beautiful  though  severe  countenance ; 
"  very  elegant-looking  people  and  evidently  rich,"  so 
the  brig-master  described  them, —  "  had  much  the 
look  of  some  of  the  Mississippi  River  '  Lower 
Coast '  aristocracy."  Their  appearance  was  the 
more  interesting  for  a  look  of  mental  distress  evi- 
dent on  the  face  of  each.  Brother  and  sister  they 
called  themselves ;  but,  if  so,  she  was  the  most 
severely  reserved  and  distant  sister  the  master  of 
the  vessel  had  ever  seen. 

They  landed,  if  the  account  comes  down  to  us 
right,  at  Bordeaux.  The  captain,  a  fellow  of  the 
peeping  sort,  found  pastime  in  keeping  them  in 
sight  after  they  had  passed  out  of  his  care  ashore. 
They   went  to  different  hotels  ! 

The  vessel  was  detained  some  weeks  in  this  har- 
bor, and  her  master  continued  to  enjoy  himself  in 
the  way  in  which  he  had  begun.      He  saw  his  late 


Where  Some  Creole  Money  Goes     479 

passengers  meet  often,  in  a  certain  quiet  path  under 
the  trees  of  the  Quinconce.  Their  conversations 
were  low ;  in  the  patois  they  used  they  could  have 
afforded  to  speak  louder  ;  their  faces  were  always 
grave  and  almost  always  troubled.  The  interviews 
seemed  to  give  neither  of  them  any  pleasure.  The 
monsieur  grew  thinner  than  ever,  and  sadly  feeble. 

"  He  wants  to  charter  her,"  the  seaman  con- 
cluded, "  but  she  does  n't  like  his  rates." 

One  day,  the  last  that  he  saw  them  together,  they 
seemed  to  be,  each  in  a  way  different  from  the 
other,  under  a  great  strain.  He  was  haggard,  woe- 
begone, nervous  ;  she  high-strung,  resolute, —  with 
"  eyes  that  shone  like  lamps,"  as  said  the   observer. 

"  She  's  a-sendin'  him  'way  to  lew-ard,"  thought 
he.  Finally  the  Monsieur  handed  her  —  or  rather 
placed  upon  the  seat  near  which  she  stood,  what 
she  would  not  receive  —  a  folded  and  sealed  docu- 
ment, seized  her  hand,  kissed  it  and  hurried  away. 
She  sank  down  upon  the  seat,  weak  and  pale, 
and  rose  to  go,  leaving  the  document  behind. 
The  mariner  picked  it  up ;  it  was  directed  to  M. 
Honor'e  Grandissime,  Nouvelle  Orleans,  Etats  Unis, 
Am'erique.  She  turned  suddenly,  as  if  remembering, 
or  possibly  reconsidering,  and  received  it  from  him. 

"  It  looked  like  a  last  will  and  testament,"  the 
seaman  used  to  say,  in  telling  the  story. 

The  next  morning,  being  at  the  water's  edge  and 
seeing  a  number  of  persons  gathering  about  some- 
thing not  far  away,  he  sauntered  down  toward  it 
to  see  how  small  a    thing  was  required  to  draw  a 


480  The  Grandissimes 

crowd  of  these  Frenchmen.  It  was  the  drowned 
body  of  the  f.  m.  c. 

Did  the  brig-master  never  see  the  woman  again  ? 
He  always  waited  for  this  question  to  be  asked  him, 
in  order  to  state  the  more  impressively  that  he  did. 
His  brig  became  a  regular  Bordeaux  packet,  and  he 
saw  the  Madame  twice  or  thrice,  apparently  living 

at  great  ease,   but  solitary,  in    the    rue .     He 

was  free  to  relate  that  he  tried  to  scrape  acquaint- 
ance with  her,  but  failed  ignominiously. 

The  rents  of  Number  19  rue  Bienville  and  of 
numerous  other  places,  including  the  new  drugstore 
in  the  rue  Royale,  were  collected  regularly  by  H. 
Grandissime,  successor  to  Grandissime  Freres. 
Rumor  said,  and  tradition  repeats,  that  neither  for 
the  advancement  of  a  friendless  people,  nor  even 
for  the  repair  of  the  properties'  wear  and  tear,  did 
one  dollar  of  it  ever  remain  in  New  Orleans ;  but 
that  once  a  year  Honore,  "  as  instructed,"  remitted 
to  Madame  —  say  Madame  Inconnue  —  of  Bor- 
deaux, the  equivalent,  in  francs,  of  fifty  thousand 
dollars.  It  is  averred  he  did  this  without  inter- 
ruption for  twenty  years.  "  Let  us  see  :  fifty  times 
twenty  —  one  million  dollars.  That  is  only  a  part 
of  the  pecuniary  loss  which  this  sort  of  thing  costs 
Louisiana." 

But  we  have  wandered. 


"All  Right"  481 


CHAPTER    LX 

"all  right" 

The  sun  is  once  more  setting  upon  the  Place 
dArmes.  Once  more  the  shadows  of  cathedral 
and  town-hall  lie  athwart  the  pleasant  grounds 
where  again  the  city's  fashion  and  beauty  sit  about 
in  the  sedate  Spanish  way,  or  stand  or  slowly  move 
in  and  out  among  the  old  willows  and  along  the 
white  walks.  Children  are  again  playing  on  the 
sward  ;  some,  you  may  observe,  are  in  black,  for 
Agricola.  You  see,  too,  a  more  peaceful  river,  a 
nearer-seeming  and  greener  opposite  shore,  and 
many  other  evidences  of  the  drowsy  summer's  un- 
willingness to  leave  the  embrace  of  this  seductive 
land  ;  the  dreamy  quietude  of  birds  ;  the  spreading, 
folding,  re-expanding  and  slow  pulsating  of  the  all- 
prevailing  fan  (how  like  the  unfolding  of  an  angel's 
wing  is  ofttimes  the  broadening  of  that  little  instru- 
ment!); the  oft-drawn  handkerchief;  the  pale,  cool 
colors  of  summer  costume ;  the  swallow,  circling 
and  twittering  overhead  or  darting  across  the  sight ; 
the  languid  movement  of  foot  and  hand ;  the  reek- 
ing flanks  and  foaming  bits  of  horses ;  the  ear- 
piercing  note  of  the  cicada;  the  dancing  butterfly; 
the  dog,  dropping  upon  the  grass  and  looking  up 
to  his  master  with  roping  jaw  and  lolling  tongue; 
the  air  sweetened  with  the  merchandise  of  the 
flower   marchandes. 

3' 


482  The  Grandissimes 

On  the  levee  road,  bridles  and  saddles,  whips, 
gigs,  and  carriages,  —  what  a  merry  coming  and 
going  !  We  look,  perforce,  toward  the  old  bench 
where,  six  months  ago,  sat  Joseph  Frowenfeld. 
There  is  somebody  there  —  a  small,  thin,  weary- 
looking  man,  who  leans  his  bared  head  slightly 
back  against  the  tree,  his  thin  fingers  knit  together 
in  his  lap,  and  his  chapeau-bras  pressed  under  his 
arm.  You  note  his  extreme  neatness  of  dress,  the 
bright,  unhealthy  restlessness  of  his  eye,  and  —  as 
a  beam  from  the  sun  strikes  them  —  the  fineness 
of  his  short  red  curls.      It  .is  Doctor  Keene. 

He  lifts  his  head  and  looks  forward.  Honore 
and  Frowenfeld  are  walking  arm-in-arm  under  the 
furthermost  row  of  willows.  Honore  is  speaking. 
How  gracefully,  in  correspondence  with  his  words, 
his  free  arm  or  hand  —  sometimes  his  head  or  even 
his  lithe  form  —  moves  in  quiet  gesture,  while  the 
grave,  receptive  apothecary  takes  into  his  medita- 
tive mind,  as  into  a  large,  cool  cistern,  the  valued 
rain-fall  of  his  friend's  communications.  They  are 
near  enough  for  the  little  doctor  easily  to  call  them  ; 
but  he  is  silent.  The  unhappy  feel  so  far  away 
from  the  happy.  Yet  —  "Take  care!"  comes  sud- 
denly to  his  lips,  and  is  almost  spoken ;  for  the 
two,  about  to  cross  toward  the  Place  d'Armes  at 
the  very  spot  where  Aurora  had  once  made  her 
narrow  escape,  draw  suddenly  back,  while  the  black 
driver  of  a  volante  reins  up  the  horse  he  bestrides, 
and  the  animal  himself  swerves  and  stops. 

The  two   friends,   though   startled  apart,   hasten 


"All  Right"  483 

with  lifted  hats  to  the  side  of  the  volante,  pro- 
foundly convinced  that  one,  at  least,  of  its  two 
occupants  is  heartily  sorry  that  they  were  not 
rolled  in  the  dust.  Ah,  ah!  with  what  a  wicked, 
ill-stifled  merriment  those  two  ethereal  women  bend 
forward  in  the  faintly  perfumed  clouds  of  their  rav- 
ishing summer-evening  garb,  to  express  their  equiv- 
ocal mortification  and  regret. 

"  Oh  !  I  'm  so  sawry,  oh  !    Almoze  runned  o' 

ah,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

Aurora  could  keep  the  laugh  back  no  longer. 

"  An'  righd  yeh  befo'  haivry  boddie I  Ah,  ha,  ha! 
'Sieur  Grandissime,  'tis  me-e-e  w'ad  know  'ow  dad 
is  bad,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  Oh !  I  assu'  you,  gen'lemen,  id 
is  hawful  ! " 

And  so  on. 

By  and  by  Honore  seemed  urging  them  to  do 
something,  the  thought  of  which  made  them  laugh, 
yet  was  entertained  as  not  entirely  absurd.  It  may 
have  been  that  to  which  they  presently  seemed  to 
consent ;  they  alighted  from  the  volante,  dismissed  it, 
and  walked  each  at  a  partner's  side  down  the  grassy 
avenue  of  the  levee.  It  was  as  Clotilde  with  one 
hand  swept  her  light  robes  into  perfect  adjustment 
for  the  walk,  and  turned  to  take  the  first  step 
with  Frowenfeld,  that  she  raised  her  eyes  for  the 
merest  instant  to  his,  and  there  passed  between 
them  an  exchange  of  glance  which  made  the  heart 
of  the  little  doctor  suddenly  burn  like  a  ball  of 
fire. 

"  Now  we  're  all   right,"   he    murmured    bitterly 


484  The  Grandissimes 

to  himself,  as,  without  having  seen  him,  she  took 
the  arm  of  the  apothecary,  and  they  moved 
away. 

Yes,  if  his  irony  was  meant  for  this  pair,  he 
divined  correctly.  Their  hearts  had  found  utter- 
ance across  the  lips,  and  the  future  stood  waiting 
for  them  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  existence,  to 
usher  them  into  a  perpetual  copartnership  in  all 
its  joys  and  sorrows,  its  disappointments,  its  im- 
perishable hopes,  its  aims,  its  conflicts,  its  rewards  ; 
and  the  true  —  the  great  —  the  everlasting  God  of 
love  was  with  them.  Yes,  it  had  been  "  all 
right,"  now,  for  nearly  twenty-four  hours  —  an 
age  of  bliss.  And  now,  as  they  walked  beneath 
the  willows  where  so  many  lovers  had  walked  be- 
fore them,  they  had  whole  histories  to  tell  of  the 
tremors,  the  dismays,  the  misconstructions  and 
longings  through  which  their  hearts  had  come  to 
this  bliss ;  how  at  such  a  time,  thus  and  so ;  and 
after  such  and  such  a  meeting,  so  and  so ;  no  part 
of  which  was  heard  by  alien  ears,  except  a  frag- 
ment of  Clotilde's  speech  caught  by  a  small  boy  in 
unintentioned  ambush. 

" Evva  sinze  de  firze  nighd  w'en  I  big-in  to 

nurze  you  wid  de  fivver." 

She  was  telling  him,  with  that  new,  sweet  bold- 
ness so  wonderful  to  a  lately  accepted  lover,  how 
long  she  had  loved  him. 

Later  on  they  parted  at  the  porte-cochere.  Honore 
and  Aurora  had  got  there  before  them,  and  were 
passing  on  up  the  stairs.     Clotilde,  catching,  a  mo- 


"All  Right"  485 

ment  before,  a  glimpse  of  her  face,  had  seen  that 
there  was  something  wrong ;  weather-wise  as  to  its 
indications  she  perceived  an  impending  shower  of 
tears.  A  faint  shade  of  anxiety  rested  an  instant 
on  her  own  face.  Frowenfeld  could  not  go  in. 
They  paused  a  little  within  the  obscurity  of  the 
corridor,  and  just  to  reassure  themselves  that  every- 
thing was  "all  right,"  they 

God  be  praised  for  love's  young  dream  ! 

The  slippered  feet  of  the  happy  girl,  as  she 
slowly  mounted  the  stair  alone,  overburdened  with 
the  weight  of  her  blissful  reverie,  made  no  sound. 
As  she  turned  its  mid-angle  she  remembered  Aurora. 
She  could  guess  pretty  well  the  source  of  her 
trouble ;  Honore  was  trying  to  treat  that  hand- 
clasping  at  the  bedside  of  Agricola  as  a  binding 
compact ;  "  which,  of  course,  was  not  fair."  She 
supposed  they  would  have  gone  into  the  front 
drawing-room ;  she  would  go  into  the  back.  But 
she  miscalculated  ;  as  she  silently  entered  the  door 
she  saw  Aurora  standing  a  little  way  beyond  her, 
close  before  Honore,  her  eyes  cast  down,  and  the 
trembling  fan  hanging  from  her  two  hands  like  a 
broken  pinion.  He  seemed  to  be  reiterating,  in  a 
tender  undertone,  some  question  intended  to  bring 
her  to  a  decision.  She  lifted  up  her  eyes  toward 
his  with  a  mute,  frightened  glance. 

The  intruder,  with  an  involuntary  murmur  of 
apology,  drew  back ;  but,  as  she  turned,  she  was 
suddenly  and  unspeakably  saddened  to  see  Aurora 
drop  her  glance,  and,  with  a  solemn  slowness  whose 


486  The  Grandissimes 

momentous   significance  was   not  to  be    mistaken, 
silently  shake  her  head. 

"  Alas ! "    cried    the    tender    heart   of    Clotilde. 
"  Alas  !    M.   Grandissime !  " 


CHAPTER   LXI 


If  M.  Grandissime  had  believed  that  he  was 
prepared  for  the  supreme  bitterness  of  that  mo- 
ment, he  had  sadly  erred.  He  could  not  speak. 
He  extended  his  hand  in  a  dumb  farewell,  when, 
all  unsanctioned  by  his  will,  the  voice  of  despair 
escaped  him  in  a  low  groan.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment, a  tinkling  sound  drew  near,  and  the  room, 
which  had  grown  dark  with  the  fall  of  night, 
began  to  brighten  with  the  softly  widening  light 
of  an  evening  lamp,  as  a  servant  approached  to 
place  it   in  the  front  drawing-room. 

Aurora  gave  her  hand  and  withdrew  it.  In  the 
act  the  two  somewhat  changed  position,  and  the 
rays  of  the  lamp,  as  the  maid  passed  the  door, 
falling  upon  Aurora's  face,  betrayed  the  again 
upturned  eyes. 

"'Sieur  Grandissime " 

They  fell. 

The  lover  paused. 

"  You  thing  I  'm  crool." 

She  was  the  statue  of  meekness. 


"No  !  "  487 

"  Hope  has  been  cruel  to  me,"  replied  M.  Gran- 
dissime, "  not  you  ;  that  I  cannot  say.     Adieu." 

He  was  turning. 

" 'Sieur  Grandissime " 

She  seemed  to  tremble. 

He  stood  still. 

"'Sieur  Grandissime,"  —  her  voice  was  very 
tender,  —  "wad  you'  horry?" 

There  was  a  great  silence. 

"  'Sieur  Grandissime,  you  know  —  teg  a  chair." 

He  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  both  sat  down. 
The  servant  repassed  the  door;  yet  when  Aurora 
broke  the  silence,  she  spoke  in  English  —  having 
such  hazardous  things  to  say.  It  would  conceal 
possible  stammerings. 

"'Sieur  Grandissime  —  you  know  dad  riz'n 
I " 

She  slightly  opened  her  fan,  looking  down  upon 
it,  and  was  still. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  ask  the  reason,"  said  M. 
Grandissime.     "  It  is  yours  —  not  mine." 

Her  head  went  lower. 

"  Well,  you  know,"  —  she  drooped  it  meditatively 
to  one  side,  with  her  eyes  on  the  floor,  —  "  't  is  bick- 
ause  —  't  is  bick-ause  I  thing  in  a  few  days  I  'm 
goin'  to  die." 

M.  Grandissime  said  never  a  word.  He  was  not 
alarmed. 

She  looked  up  suddenly  and  took  a  quick  breath, 
as  if  to  resume,  but  her  eyes  fell  before  his,  and  she 
said,  in  a  tone  of  half-soliloquy  : 


488  The  Grandissimes 

"  I  'ave  so  mudge  troub'  wit  dad  hawt." 

She  lifted  one  little  hand  feebly  to  the  cardiac 
region,  and  sighed  softly,  with   a  dying  languor. 

M.  Grandissime  gave  no  response.  A  vehicle 
rumbled  by  in  the  street  below,  and  passed  away. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  room,  where  a  gilded  Mars 
was  driving  into  batde,  a  soft  note  told  the  half- 
hour.     The  lady  spoke  again. 

"Id  mague  "  —  she  sighed  once  more — "so 
strange,  —  sometime'  I  thing  I'm  git'n'  crezzy." 

Still  he  to  whom  these  fearful  disclosures  were 
being  made  remained  as  silent  and  motionless  as  an 
Indian  captive,  and,  after  another  pause,  with  its 
painful  accompaniment  of  small  sounds,  the  fair 
speaker  resumed  with  more  energy,  as  befitting  the 
approach  to  an  incredible  climax : 

"Some  day',  'Sieur  Grandissime,  —  id  mague  me 
fo'gid  my  hage  !     I  thing  I  'm  young  ! " 

She  lifted  her  eyes  with  the  evident  deter- 
mination to  meet  his  own  squarely,  but  it  was 
too  much ;  they  fell  as  before ;  yet  she  went  on 
speaking : 

"An'  w'en  someboddie  git'n'  ti'ed  livin'  wid  'im- 
sev  an'  big'n'  to  fill  ole,  an'  wan'  someboddie  to  teg 
de  care  of  'im  an'  wan'  me  to  gid  marri'd  wid  'im  — 
I  thing  'e  's  in  love  to  me."  Her  fingers  kept  up  a 
little  shuffling  with  the  fan.  "  I  thing  I  'm  crezzy. 
I  thing  I  muz  be  go'n'  to  die  torecklie."  She 
looked  up  to  the  ceiling  with  large  eyes,  and  then 
again  at  the  fan  in  her  lap,  which  continued  its 
spreading  and  shutting.     "  An'  daz  de  riz'n,  'Sieur 


"No!"  489 

Grandissime."  She  waited  until  it  was  certain  he 
was  about  to  answer,  and  then  interrupted  him  ner- 
vously :  "  You  know,  'Sieur  Grandissime,  id  woon 
be  righd  !  Id  woon  be  de  juztiz  to  you  !  An'  you 
de  bez  man  I  evva  know  in  my  life,  'Sieur  Grandis- 
sime !  "  Her  hands  shook.  "  A  man  w'at  nevva 
wan'  to  gid  marri'd  wid  noboddie  in  'is  life,  and  now 
trine  to  gid  marri'd  juz  only  to  rip-ose  de  soul  of  'is 
oncl' " 

M.  Grandissime  uttered  an  exclamation  of  protest, 
and  she  ceased. 

"  I  asked  you,"  continued  he,  with  low-toned 
emphasis,  "for  the  single  and  only  reason  that  I 
want  you  for  my  wife." 

"  Yez,"  she  quickly  replied  ;  "  daz  all.  Daz  wad 
I  thing.  An'  I  thing  daz  de  rad  weh  to  say,  'Sieur 
Grandissime.  Bick-ause,  you  know,  you  an'  me  is 
too  hole  to  talg  aboud  dad  /ovin,  you  know.  An' 
you  godd  dad  grade  rizpeg  fo'  me,  an'  me  I  godd 

dad  'ighez  rispeg  fo'  you;  bud "  she  clutched 

the  fan  and  her  face  sank  lower  still  —  "bud " 

she    swallowed  —  shook     her    head  —  "bud " 

She  bit  her  lip ;  she  could  not  go  on. 

"  Aurora,"  said  her  lover,  bending  forward  and 
taking  one  of  her  hands.  "  I  do  love  you  with  all 
my  soul." 

She  made  a  poor  attempt  to  withdraw  her  hand, 
abandoned  the  effort,  and  looked  up  savagely 
through  a  pair  of  overflowing  eyes,  demanding: 

"  Mais,  fo'  w'y  you  di'  n'  wan'  to  sesso  ?  " 

M.  Grandissime  smiled  argumentatively. 


490  The  Grandissimes 

"  I  have  said  so  a  hundred  times,  in  every  way 
but  in  words." 

She  lifted  her  head  proudly,  and  bowed  like  a 
queen. 

"  Mais,  you  see,  'Sieur  Grandissime,  you  bin  meg 
one  mizteg." 

"  Bud  'tis  corrected  in  time,"  exclaimed  he,  with 
suppressed  but  eager  joyousness. 

"  'Sieur  Grandissime,"  she  said,  with  a  tremendous 
solemnity,  "I'm  verrie  sawrie,  mats — you  spogue 
too  lade." 

"  No,  no !  "  he  cried,  "  the  correction  comes  in 
time.     Say  that,  lady  ;  say  that !  " 

His  ardent  gaze  beat  hers  once  more  down ;  but 
she  shook  her  head.      He  ignored  the  motion. 

"  And  you  will  correct  your  answer ;  ah !  say 
that,  too  !  "  he  insisted,  covering  the  captive  hand 
with  both  his  own,  and  leaning  forward  from  his 
seat. 

"  Mais,  'Sieur  Grandissime,  you  know,  dad  is  so 
verrie  unegspeg'." 

"  Oh  !  unexpected  !  " 

"  Mais,  I  was  thing  all  dad  time  id  was  Clotilde 
wad  you " 

She  turned  her  face  away  and  buried  her  mouth 
in  her  handkerchief. 

"Ah!"  he  cried,  "mock  me  no  more,  Aurore 
Nancanou  !  " 

He  rose  erect  and  held  the  hand  firmly  which 
she  strove  to  draw  away  : 

"  Say  the  word,  sweet  lady  ;  say  the  word  !  " 


"No!" 


491 


She  turned  upon  him  suddenly,  rose  to  her  feet, 
was  speechless  an  instant  while  her  eyes  flashed  into 
his,  and  crying  out : 

"  No  !  "  burst  into  tears,  laughed  through  them, 
and  let  him  clasp  her  to  his  bosom. 


Printed  for  Charles  Scribner's  Sons, 

at  The  University  Press,  Cambridge, 

Massachusetts,  October,  1899. 


